


Fighting The Green

by FireFleshAndBlood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Harry, Mentor Snape, Multi, Ravenclaw Hermione, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 184,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireFleshAndBlood/pseuds/FireFleshAndBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is a Slytherin. Neville is the Boy Who Lived. Both will have to face Voldemort to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Godric's Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to another 'Harry Potter is a Slytherin' story. 
> 
> This story was once posted a million years ago on fanfiction.net. Unfortunately, my account there is mysteriously unusable and so, I'm finally finishing this fanfic on AO3. I started this fanfic years ago and at first it was a slightly awful drabble but due to mysterious reasons it became something of a phenomenon. I hope the rewrite will eventually bring this story again to people's memories. It was a lot of fun and I hope you'll have as much fun reading as I have writing it, especially since I'm finally finishing it.
> 
> To anyone just starting this story, the pairings show up around fourth year and will be added to the tags as I write them. I'm also slowly editing this beast myself so please forgive any minor mess ups but if something particularly bothers you, feel free to comment on it.
> 
> For those curious about me or when an update will appear leave a comment on my [dreamwidth](http://firefleshandblood.dreamwidth.org/). 
> 
> Thank-you and enjoy.

**Godric’s Hollow**

 

The first few drops of sunlight spilled across Hogwarts, illuminating the tall glass windows and the brilliant green of the quidditch pitch. Fog lifted from the cold ground and embraced Ravenclaw tower in a thick, gray shroud. It was a common sight on Hogwarts as the summer green faded and winter began to carry it’s pallid chill; and yet, when the events were measured that had transpired on this seemingly inauspicious day, it was a most uncommon morning indeed.

 

“He hasn’t made a sound for hours,” Lily confessed nervously, “Not since-,” she could barely say it, even though the danger had long since passed.

 

The babe in the cradle peered up at the adults fussing over him until his brilliant green eyes landed on his mother.

 

“Don’t worry about it dear,” Poppy assured her as she checked over Harry in his crib, “babies can get quite a shock from seeing that sort of thing, even if their little minds can’t process it yet.”

 

Harry stared at her for a long while from his cot. Lily had gone shockingly pale, her fingers pinching the edge of the transfigured bed. Her eyes closed briefly, the images tumbling behind her lids; ones of Voldemort screaming his rage, James vanishing into the early morning mist. Even after she blinked blearily into the light streaming in from Hogwarts’ windows, she could still recall the sound of curses being thrown and the frost stiff grass crunching under her feet as she ran.

 

Poppy retrieved a calming draught from a tray, “Don’t worry about a thing dear,” Poppy said, as she handed Lily the potion, “Neither you, nor our little Harry are any worse for wear, frightening though it may have been.”

 

Lily drank the potion down in a quick swallow and set the empty vial by the other medical supplies in the room.

 

“The headmaster had this chamber set up especially for you. It’s guarded, you’re safe and the rest of Ravenclaw tower is well protected,” Poppy reminded her, “get some rest, or take a bath. Either will do you some good.”

 

Lily had made her way over to a blue, overstuffed chair and collapsed into it letting the velvet sooth her rattled nerves. Her bright red hair that was normally neat and tidy was wild around her face and had a few leaves still stuck in the strands. Her jeans had grass stains up the sides and across the back, and her shirt never had looked so rumpled and gray with dust. She hadn’t bathed in two days.

 

Lily asked, “And what about James?”

 

Her eyes closed of her own volition until Poppy’s voice snapped her awake.

 

“I’m sure he’ll turn up. He certainly wouldn’t want you filthy and exhausted for his sake.”

 

Lily wiped the grime from her forehead and sighed, sinking further into the chair.

 

“You’re quite right,” she said with a ghost of a smile.

 

Poppy comforted Lily with a pat on the hand, told her to take a dreamless sleep potion if she felt too anxious to rest and made her own way out. The door closed behind Poppy, and Lily suddenly found herself alone. She heard a clock ticking somewhere, perhaps the sound of excited voices down the hall. They blurred into an unsettling dream, filled with darkness, dread and evil serpent eyes. Her eyes snapped open, her body tense. There was a rapping at the door, quiet and hesitant. Her hands had clenched onto the chair as if she were holding on for dear life. Stiffly, she removed them, rubbing her sore wrist as she went to answer it.

 

“James!” she shouted into the hall.

 

It wasn’t James that stood in front of the door, but a tall dour man. It took her a moment to recognize him for who he was as his face had nearly been concealed by lank black hair.

 

“Severus?” she breathed in abject surprise.

 

He stared at her, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he saw. It had been years since they had spoken, Lily was at a loss what to say.

 

“Peter Pettigrew,” he uttered stiffly, as though taken aback by the state she was in, “He’s been arrested.”

 

Lily was confused, perhaps from exhaustion, but it didn't make sense to her at first. And her childhood friend who’d been so awful for the last few years, who she thought had managed to get himself killed, was standing in front of her door. She absently brushed a leaf from her hair, a sad attempt at straightening up.

 

“He has?” she said, her voice tiny and small in her throat, “Why?”

 

“He was a traitor,” Severus spat out, “The one who broke the charm.”

 

Lily’s jaw tried to work but it didn’t. Instead she felt the most awful choking sensation in her throat. It was so inconceivable, it was almost ludicrous. They’d had dinner a few days before! Peter had seemed so sad, so depressed. How many frantic excuses had fluttered through her head, releasing him from any wrong doing, and then the realization thrummed through her head like a dreaded heartbeat.

 

“No,” Lily said, her hands shaking, retreating into her room, “That can’t be!”

 

Severus made no move to come in after her. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, his tall frame leaned to the right. The deep lines on his face hadn’t been there before when they’d been in school, either. Perhaps he was exhausted too. It struck her suddenly that she hadn’t any idea what he’d been through last night or even the last few years.

 

“How could he?” she gasped, “How could he even think-!”

 

“He wasn’t thinking,” Severus snarled, “Certainly you must recall that thinking wasn’t exactly his strong point.”

 

Lily turned to defend Peter out of habit, but her lips thinned with disgust. It was a foolish desire.

 

“I’ve only come to say that he-,” Severus seemed to pause, as though looking for the proper words, “-he may have redeemed himself. In a fashion.”

 

“Did he,” she uttered, “And how did he do that?”

 

“He distracted the Dark Lord,” Severus said, “From hitting his mark early.”

 

Lily’s eyes widened, “At the house, we had time to scatter.”

 

Under the fringe of black there was a hesitant nod. All of the sudden anger and awful feelings Lily had been harboring melted away. She looked away from her old friend at the Hogwarts stones on the floor. She knew her eyes must be red from all the tears she wanted to shed. She didn’t want him to see her weeping at the thought that a friend who had double crossed them had come around. Severus wasn’t much for forgiveness; he never had been.

 

“Did you,” she finally uttered in the silence.

 

“W-what?” he stuttered.

 

“Redeem yourself?” she asked, as her eyes lifted from the stones.

 

They regarded one another for a very long time. Here at Hogwarts they weren't order members or death eaters, simply a girl and a boy that had once been friends. Time had not stopped however, the boyish face Lily had remembered had been given up to cruel age, jaded and sardonic with none of the humor remaining. The man standing in front of her might as well have been a stranger, as far away from the boy that had tearfully sat outside Gryffindor for her so long ago.

 

“Lils!” a voice called her, very far away, “Is he with you?”

 

“No Sirius,” Lily said quickly, “James isn't here yet, have you seen him?”

 

Severus' footsteps clicked loudly on the stone floors, his robes leaving in a flurry of black. Lily shook herself out of the strange daydream she'd been in for the past twenty four hours and flung herself to the stairway.

 

“I’d like us to be friends again!” Lily shouted, “If we could.”

 

Severus stopped his hasty retreat and peered for the briefest of moments through the long curtain of his hair. Lily held her breath as though the world had stopped its turning. From the long steps Severus looked up at her and held her gaze for a precious second, then he vanished down the stairway without another sound.

 

“Who was that?” Sirius asked, as he peered down the staircase beside her, “Was that Snivellus?”

 

The disbelief in his voice was evident and it suddenly made Lily feel very sad.

 

“It's all right,” she said, her shoulders slumped, “Dumbledore let him in.”

 

“How would anyone know!” Sirius demanded, “He could have snuck in here, the nasty snake!”

 

“Sirius!” Lily shouted her patience snapping, “He helped us, he could have run away or hid, but he helped us. I can't forget that.”

 

Sirius seemed so terribly lost without James and for the second time that night, Lily remembered that she wasn't the only one hurting.

 

“He's not with you then?” Lily said, “You both went to the Longbottom's.”

 

“We were split up,” Sirius said, “The death eaters had already been there, you wouldn't have been able to bear the sight, Lils, I almost couldn't, I swear it.”

 

“What happened?” Lily asked, the fear evident in her voice.

 

Sirius shook his head, “I don't know. I couldn't tell you if I tried. We won't know a thing for sure until Prongs gets back here.”

 

Sirius' robes were in tatters, his hair untied from it's usual knot, wild and unkempt. Surely the two of them looked like they'd been fighting in a jungle instead of the grassy valley of Godric's Hollow. Lily recalled James thrusting their son into her arms and directing her to flee. She also clearly remembered Severus darting out of the woods scaring her half to death, making sure she managed to get to Hogwarts. The rest of the night was a blur and now she waited to hear from others the news; her husband alive or dead, what happened to Peter from an unusual source. She was unsure of everything now and friends that had seemed constant a few hours ago, were now cast under a veil of suspicion.

 

“Lils,” Sirius said, wiping the tears from her cheeks, “It's all right. We have Harry, it's all right.”

 

Sirius hugged her and she clung to the assurance he offered, that he'd find James and bring him home. Lily returned to her rooms and watched Harry in his cot as long as she could, until exhaustion wore down on her and she was forced to retire to bed.

 

When the high afternoon sun spilled across Lily's cheeks she realized Poppy had been there and gone already. There were fresh sheets laying beside her and a calming draught, as well as written directions in Poppy's straight forward script to take a bath and rest before seeing Dumbledore. They were sensible suggestions and after she checked on Harry sleeping away in his cot, she does as she's told and comes out of the bathroom moderately refreshed. Her hair was still damp and her clothes still rumpled, but she felt better than she had in days.

 

But there standing next to the crib, was James.

 

“James,” Lily breathed, “James!”

 

At first she thought it was a dream, it couldn't possibly be true. But he turned around and rushed to embrace her. They laughed giddily, so joyous to have found one another again.

 

“What happened?” Lily asked as her hands threaded through his hair and her fingeres straightened his glasses, a habitual action she'd never been so happy to perform.

 

“I'm all right,” he said, “There was a scuffle at the Longbottom's.”

 

James looked a bit worse for wear but he seemed strong and in one piece, smiling.

 

“Frank and Alice,” Lily asked, “Where are they?”

The cheerful reunion was dampened as James shook his head.

 

“I-” he breathed deeply, “It's difficult to explain. Frank is dead. Alice is...well. There's not much left of her to be alive.”

 

Lily gasped, “And their baby, Neville?”

 

“Still alive,” James said, “Miraculously. I was near enough that I heard the explosion, the screams. There was nothing I could do, it was just – something out of a fairy story! Neville was in the rubble, I got him out before the death eaters could finish what Voldemort started.”

 

“Voldemort is -” Lily asked, as her confusion grew.

 

“He's dead,” James said, “Neville killed him. No one knows how, but he's definitely, certainly dead.”

 

Lily had to sit down after the news, her mind reeled. James leaned in beside her and rested his head on her shoulder.

 

“It could have been us,” he said.

 

“We had help,” Lily admitted, “From unexpected friends.”

 

“Could have been,” was all James said, as Lily's breath ruffled his hair.

 

They had narrowly missed the same fate as the Longbottoms. How much worse would it have been to know one of them survived and the other hadn't, or grimmer still, if they hadn't managed to carry Harry away in time? Despite the awfulness of the situation, Neville had survived and though the prognosis on Alice was grim, it was perhaps not as terrible as it could have been.

 

A loud banging noise outside snapped them both out of their revelry. They rushed to the window and saw fireworks, sparklers and numerous noise makers below the tower.

 

“They're celebrating,” James said, and genuinely smiled.

 

“It really is something to celebrate,” Lily said, “A new beginning.”

 

Their nightmare was perhaps, finally over.  


	2. The Marauders

 

**The Marauders**

 

The Wizengamot anteroom was an enormous hallway that sat outside of the neatly numbered courts. It was a sparse, arched cavern; there was nothing decorating the stone walls or on the floor, aside from long, uncomfortable benches. Lily had tried sitting on them, but had found standing slightly more tolerable. The air in the room was chilly, and she found her feet and hands were still cold, despite formality dictating that heavy robes, including thick gloves and boots, were to be worn. She had heard from James that the anterooms were designed centuries ago to be purposefully depressing and uncomfortable, to allow the guilty parties to dwell on their infractions. It didn't make a lot of sense to her, as innocent parties were in these rooms as much as guilty ones, but wizarding laws were strange and their customs still perplexing after more than a decade of living amongst them.

 

A massive bell rang throughout, the signal that the proceedings had begun. Soon Lily would be called to the stand. A measured tapping on the cold stone floor alerted her to the approach of another person. James had warned her in advance, that usually both sides of the proceedings awaited in these chambers, a warning that had given her ample reason to be cautious. But it was not the intimidating cowl of a death eater's robe that stood before her, rather the embroidery on an elaborate set of dress robes.

 

“Good afternoon,” the woman said, extending a delicate hand, “You must be Lily Potter.”

 

Lily nodded once, reaching her hand out in return. The woman looked young, her wide gray eyes set far apart on her face. They were large and luminous, quite child-like in appearance. She wore long blond hair in doll like curls that draped over her shoulders and around her robes, which were gray embroidered with crests. Lily had seen the crest before but she couldn't quite place where, until some of the events of the last few days slid into place. She had seen that same crest poking out of a death eater's sleeve, but it had not belonged to the woman standing in front of her now.

 

Lily snatched her hand back and stood abruptly from the bench.

 

“So you do remember,” the young lady said, “We met at the Wizengamot last year, before Voldemort's defeat.”

 

“Yes,” Lily replied, “I do recall. Isabella Nott, it's a pleasure to meet you again.”

 

Isabella laughed, “Oh, don't be a liar. I'm no happier to see you, than you are to see me. In fact, I sincerely wish we could dispense with this whole unfortunate business of your husband against mine.”

 

Many of the worst crimes during the war were suspected to be the doings of Hadrian Nott and his lovely young wife, although the Aurors had found some difficulty in gathering useable evidence. The Notts were both awful people, although if Lily recalled from the few times she had gone with James, the last time Hadrian Nott had been sitting in his seat in the Wizangamot he had appeared quite old and frail. Lily had to wonder, just how young Isabella had been when the much older Nott had married her.

 

“Then we have one wish in common,” Lily said, “one alone.”

 

“Mrs. Potter, I don't think you understand,” Isabella said, “You're testifying for traitors. Traitors to yourself, and traitors to a cause. What kind of person would do that to anyone they called a friend- would you? Would I? As unfortunate as your bloodline is, I know that we have other things in common, as people of honour.”

 

As Isabella spoke, Lily couldn't help but realise that she had thought some of the same things herself. Her questions of Severus' motives; more shockingly, of Peter's supposed betrayal and what had led him to it. She was unsure how she felt on the matter even now, waiting her chance to help them escape a miserable sentence in Azkaban.

 

“There is a hidden door,” Isabella continued, “It's under the fourth arch, only the oldest families know about it of course, it was meant to allow those who wished to find their justice elsewhere to leave without incident. I urge you to consider this particular choice, you gain nothing lending help to individuals who have a nasty habit of turning around and biting the very hand that feeds them. You stand to lose much more, if you persist in foolish acts of faith.”

 

Isabella stood before Lily with a sense of utmost confidence. This was Isabella's hidden strength, Lily surmised. Although magic and spells were impossible to use in the anteroom, this was an entirely other kind of magic that didn't require wands or latin phrases. Under the beauty and noble manners, was a truly wicked person who wished only to do harm, and was quite willing to use their charms to achieve those ends.

 

She supposed that to those with lesser characters, it would have been a devastating attack but Lily had only been moved for a moment of self doubt, and now stood firm.

 

“If we're so alike, then you must know that my choices are my own,” Lily said, “And any choice I make has nothing to do with petty ideals and fear mongering.”

 

Isabella advanced on Lily, her diminutive form suddenly rendered less child-like and more sinister. They weren't quite face to face, Isabella was a bit shorter, her blond bangs not even reaching Lily's nose.

 

“Those once in power,” Isabella said, “Will be in power again. You may gain your pound of flesh from the Dark Lord's most faithful, but I too, shall have mine.”

 

The door was flung open, and the two women faced a stern looking wizard who had entered the antechamber. His robes brushed the floor, and his expression faintly lined.

 

“Isabella Nott,” he said primly, pointed nose held high.

 

They both paused for a moment, neither wishing to concede to the other, until the intensity of their meeting was forced to dissipate. Isabella curtsied, her stiff dress robes parting enough to expose the layers of lace she wore under it, then she vanished with the wizard through the intimidating door. Lily pensively watched the door for a long time, her thoughts churning.

 

After many hours, Lily and her somber party of friends returned home after midnight. James slunk into the chair at the kitchen table, as though the life had been sucked out of him. Remus quietly took his place beside him, and Lily on the other side. She rubbed James' shoulders, today had been a difficult day for all of them, but it had become especially trying for him.

 

They sat around the table as though at a funeral, their countenances equally grim. By a startling series of events, Sirius had been convicted and sentenced to Azkaban.

 

“How did they manage,” James says, “It should have been impossible.”

 

“Malfoy's money had something to do with it,” Remus offers, “The whole family has been out for Sirius, every since he was a boy. Narcissa disliked him intently, especially with the ownership of the house being disputed.”

 

“Isabella Nott,” Lily said flatly, “Suggested as much to me in the antechamber. I doubt there was anything we could have done, save bowing to their demands.”

 

James snorted derisively, “Like that would ever happen.”

 

“Precisely,” Lily confirmed.

 

Remus stood up, “I'm going to make some tea.”

 

James nodded mutely, and Lily took his hand. Even without Isabella's sway over the court, they had been quite ready to throw any Black they could into Azkaban, while Snape, an unheard of family name, was allowed quite a bit of leniency. Peter hadn't fared much better, although his confessions concerning death eater crimes and his frightened self doubt may have thrown a scrap of mercy at the feet of his jury.

 

“What are we going to do about Peter,” James asked, waving his hand, “First he likes us, then he hates us, then he decides to throw himself to the dogs.”

 

“I wish he'd make up his mind,” Remus said ruefully, “It all gets rather tiresome.”

 

James huffed, a pale imitation of laughter, “He managed to get seven. Sirius has five. Albus says they won't keep them in there for that long, they're bound to be let out on good behaviour in two, three years at most.”

 

“Hadrian Nott managed nine years,” Remus said bitterly, “Could the same be said for him?”

 

Lily only felt a modicum of satisfaction that Hadrian Nott had been convicted and sentenced; the Aurors hadn't done a very thorough investigation, and Lily had some notion that Nott had been present during Frank and Alice's torture.

 

“It's that evil witch and Malfoy's money that will get him out of there,” James snarled, “All those old families are wrapped up in each other, favours owed, all of them half related to the other, it's downright incestuous.”

 

Remus sighed, and placed their tea in front of them, “I'm worried about Azkhaban's effect on our friends.”

 

“Peter deserves it,” James said.

 

“That's an evil thing to say,” Lily reminded him, “he changed his colours in the end.”

 

Remus took his seat, his expression speculative.

 

“Did he really?” Remus said, finally.

 

Lily regarded him with surprise, “Do you think he'd turn his back on us again, after all that?”

 

“I can't deny I'm biased,” Remus said, “Until he revealed himself all eyes were on me.”

 

“Which was stupid and I'm sorry,” James replied.

 

“It's all forgiven,” Remus said, “I wondered about everyone those days too, Moody's motto became literal.”

 

“But it's all over now,” James said, assured, “The Dark Lord is dead, as much as the death eater brigade wants to deny the truth.”

 

“I suppose the question is, what will we do about Peter when he gets out,” Remus said, “Who knows who he'll meet in Azkhaban, for that matter, who knows what he'll do after.”

 

“We'll forgive him,” Lily insisted, “As he forgave all of us for not being there for him.”

 

“Lils,” James said, his countenance confused, “I don't-”  
  


“It's mercy,” Lily said, “He's not made for Azkaban, neither is Sirius for that matter but he's a man of purpose, not a lost boy the way Peter is. Whatever is left of him we have to help.”

 

They sat in gloomy introspection, Lily watching the bottom of her tea cup. She'd never been one for divination, but if she turned the cup just right, she thought she could see the Grim, it's dark mangy fur bursting from the black tea leaves. Her brow furrowed, and Remus gently took the tea cup from her hands, turning it around.

 

“Stem to the right,” he said, with a sad smile.

 

The grim was transformed into flowers; the wolfish head changed into heaps of roses, symbols of love and hope.

 


	3. Lily's Wish

**Lily's Wish**

 

The winter had been unforgiving, its cold gray presence felt throughout London, and even far into the countryside. The Potter household was nestled in a small muggle village, far enough from Godric's Hollow to feel safe and yet, not far enough to be unfamiliar. Despite the darkness of the night and the freezing bluster of the air, inside the Potter house was warm and cheery.

 

“Padfoot!” Harry shouted excitedly.

 

“Goodness,” Sirius exclaimed, “you're so big!”

 

He grabbed Harry in his arms and twirled him around, who squealed with delight.

 

“Last time I saw you, you were only this tall,” Sirius said, putting his hand very low.

 

“I was not,” Harry said, “I've been taller than that for ages.”

 

“I haven't seen you since I was at the hospital,” Sirius ascertained, “Surely, that was a million years ago. You'll be riding brooms and chasing girls in no time.”

 

“Girls?” Harry said, scrunching up his face, “Brooms are more fun.”

 

“Just you wait and see,” Sirius assures, with a brilliant grin, “This summer, I'll teach you how to ride that new broom we bought you.”

 

“Sirius!” Harry's mum had appeared, “He's not learning how to ride a broom at five years old.”

 

“What's the point in having a kid's broom if he's not going to ride it,” Sirius said.

 

“The one he had as a baby was bad enough,” she said in reply.

 

“It did get rid of that awful vase,” Remus helpfully added from the kitchen.

 

With three marauders on his side, Harry knew his wishes were likely to be granted. Things had always worked like this, three against one; the forces of friends greater than the will of every other force in the universe.

 

“Can I learn Mum?” Harry said, looking at her imploringly.

 

Lily regarded him with worry, “I don't know. Wait until the summer, we'll see.”

 

Harry took this as a yes, “Brilliant!” he exclaimed.

 

“Have something for you,” Sirius says, “I managed to swing by Honeydukes.”

 

A paper bag was produced, and Sirius laughed loudly as it was torn open and the contents strewn across the kitchen table. Harry happily began to tear through the candy piles,picking out his favorites. However, before he could enjoy any of them his mother had swooped in and gathered them up.

 

“Not before bed time,” Lily said.

 

“Let him have a few,” Sirius chides, “I haven't seen him in ages.”

 

Sirius rather bereft expression caused Lily to pause.

 

“Oh, all right,” she said, “What do you say, Harry.”

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, before unwrapping a handful and stuffing them in his mouth.

 

When James arrives home, it's time for Harry to go to bed. Sirius helps settle him down, and convinces James to let him read Harry his story. Harry insists on something exciting, with dragons in it, and Sirius is more than happy to oblige. James listens, amused, as Sirius does all the voices. After quite a few stories, Harry finally manages to quiet down enough to go to sleep.

 

“That's the best night he's had in ages,” James confessed to Sirius, as they're going down the stairs, “Sometimes he gets in these awful moods, downright stroppy. Lily thinks he knows about what's going on, even though we haven't told him a thing.”

 

“He's brilliant that's why,” Sirius remarks, “smartest boy there is. ”

 

James laughed, “He knows he's loved, that's for certain. But it's fun to spoil him, isn't it?”

 

“He deserves it,” Sirius says wistfully, “How has Harry been doing, all those years I wasn't around?”

 

“He's right as rain,” James said, “You know, he wouldn't stop talking about your visit. Last time he saw you it was in St Mungo's.”

 

“Right,” Sirius said, a darkness had settled in his features, “And before that, only letters.”

 

“He remembered you,” James insisted, “Even after all this time.”

 

“Has Peter-,” Sirius asked suddenly, “Has he been writing too?”

 

James nodded, “Like clockwork, twice a month.”

 

Sirius lips thinned and his eyes narrowed, “He deserves to know what he's missing, what he nearly stole.”

 

“It is a rather fitting punishment,” Remus said, his calm voice startling them both, “he's become very fond of Harry.”

 

He was at the bottom of the stairs, face bathed in the gloomy light from the window. Remus led them back into the kitchen where they sat wretchedly around the table, the previous cheerful atmosphere dampened considerably. There were many things they had to discuss, and none of them were very pleasant.

 

James huffed, “I suppose the whole idea is to keep him from doing anything like that again.”

 

“When he manages to be released, yes,” Remus said.

 

Sirius shook his head, “Somehow, you didn't end up in Ravenclaw.”

 

“Or Slytherin,” James said.

 

Remus wore a bemused smile, “He made a mistake, it's only fair.”

 

Sirius seemed very far away, his shoulders slouching and expression grim.

 

“It was quite a bit of comfort,” Sirius said, “Knowing he was locked up in there right beside me along with Bellatrix. I'm not sure who screamed louder, the madwoman or the rat.”

 

“It's all over now,” James insisted, clapping Sirius on the back, “It was like trying to argue the moon down from the sky, but we made it.”

 

“They let out Nott too,” Sirius commented bitterly, “Did they have to argue for him?”

 

James snorted, “They certainly had to pay a King's ransom, I can tell you that for a fact.”

 

Remus shook his head, “How does the ministry expect to portray justice when one of the worst perpetrators is set free?”

 

“That's the problem, isn't it,” James said, “The Notts, Malfoys, even the Blacks have always had pockets deep enough to sway bureaucracy in their favor, even when everyone else is against them.”

 

“Lucious Malfoy stopped by for visits regularly,” Sirius commented bitterly, “I bet you anything that slimy bastard was the one who arranged Nott's release.”

 

“Whoever has done it,” Lily interjected, “There won't be any complaints lodged against them.”

 

She placed a bottle of wine on the dining room table, next to the window. Fog rolled outside the panes, eerily reminiscent of that night in October four years ago. Lily could still feel the panic sometimes nipping at the edges of her mind, just when she was falling asleep. In her nightmares James' utterance, 'It could have been us', played out with a painful finality.

 

“I've started a campaign,” Lily said, “quite a number of witches wish to express their displeasure with the Wizengamot's decisions.”

 

“Couldn't you have waited?” James asked, “The house we're in now isn't safe! As awful as it is to say, Grimmauld Place would be better.”

 

“It won't take more than a year to get it at most,” Sirius interrupts, “And there both you and Harry will have a whole magical building to protect you.”

 

“It's going to be four years at the least,” Lily sighs, “I may not know everything about wizarding inheritance laws but there isn't a doubt that Narcissa won't contest your claim, Sirius.”

 

“She already has ten estates,” Sirius says, crossing his arms, “What's another.”

 

Remus lets out a faint laugh, “If it's yours she'll want it twice as badly. And she's a Black, we're just lucky she didn't try and swipe it under our noses while you were in prison.”

 

“I'll have to thank the barrister for that one,” Sirius said.

 

“He was most discrete,” James agrees, “With a little encouragement.”

 

“Neville's parents,” Lily said, “his mother in particular, would want us to stand up against the unfairness in the wizangemot.”

 

The somber thoughts quiet all of them, Neville's mother would never recover and they had all been there with the elderly Mrs. Longbottom when the news had been delivered. She hadn't taken it well, and her insistence that Aurors stand guard at her home had been accepted without argument, despite how taxing the effort had been on an already stretched department.

 

“As an Auror I'm not supposed to say for certain,” James said, “But I can tell you this; half the dark wizards think Voldemort is gone for good and the other half think he'll be back any day. It's a bad situation for all of us, there are plenty of awful witches and wizards on both sides.”

 

“It's a risk we're all taking,” Remus said, “And why is it so unreasonable that Lily should take it with us.”

 

Sirius snorted, “That's obvious, it's Lils. Without her where would our Prongs be?”

 

They all laugh and Lily smiles ruefully at James.

 

“I suppose with you to protect me I shouldn't worry,” she said, teasingly.

 

“And you'd be right,” James said, “Your feminist sensibilities can argue against it all they like, you're much better off with a couple of strapping young wizards around.”

 

“Pardon me, Mr. prefect!” Lily scolds, to the laughter of their friends.

 

“Everyone needs looking after these days,” Remus reminds them, “including Aurors.”

 

Another bottle of wine was opened, the liquid spilling into Lily's good crystal glasses, laughter ringing through the room.

 

“Let's have a toast,” Remus suggested, “to happier times.”

 

“To happier times,” they echoed.

 

They had many strange days in the coming weeks, long unforgiving days. The wizarding world was changing and the world that Harry had been born into would already be quite different when he was old enough to go to Hogwarts.

 

Lily could worry and fret all she liked, but it all came down to her faith that Harry would make the right decisions. Maybe even better decisions than the ones they had all made as children. There would be no Voldemort, no death eaters and no friends that were companions one minute, betrayers the next. Or at least she hoped, her heart wishing that she could save him from all the pain she held in her memories. But there had also been good times, some very wonderful times and it was those she wished to share with Harry more than anything else in the world.

 

“I hope he's happy,” was the lingering thought when she went to bed that night, “I hope he'll always be happy.”

 


	4. Double Teamed

**Double Teamed**

 

Harry Potter knew a lot more than he let on. He perhaps knew a lot more than any average six year old because of his parents. His father did many important things that were sometimes quite dangerous, and his mother, despite being at home most of the time, wrote words that were somehow quite dangerous too. Harry hadn't been told any of this, instead he listened quietly by the staircase that led into the drawing room, sometimes hearing the frantic discussions of adults well into the night. His Uncle Remus would arrive, pale and pinched, and it was safe to say that after he left Harry's mother would be crying upstairs in her room, often for hours. They thought he didn't know and pretended everything was cheerful all the time so as not to frighten him. But Harry wished they'd stop because sometimes, Harry felt frightened and wanted to cry too; although over what he couldn't quite say. He was tired and lonely and bored, and there weren't any children to play with, or at least children that seemed very interesting. They were all muggles, and none of them could come over to his house anyway, because as his father often said they were still in 'grave danger'. Harry understood the meaning of the word grave, and the word danger, but wasn't sure quite how they went together. If you were dead and in a grave, weren't you out of danger? It was a quandary he wasn't certain he'd ever have answered.

 

Harry pressed his nose onto the window and exhaled a puff of air, turning it foggy. He used his finger to draw an ant, a tree, and a goofy looking smiley face. He grinned a bit at the last one, because it looked like Padfoot, his godfather. He knew Padfoot had been in prison for something he hadn't done, and was still very angry about it. Once in a while, he'd hear them all shouting together downstairs; his father, Moony, Padfoot and his Mum. The shouting had intensified the last few weeks, which usually meant a big decision was going to be made. There had been lots of shouting when Harry was a smaller right before they moved into this house, for example. Harry just hoped they weren't moving again. He had liked the last two houses, and missed his rooms. His current square shaped bedroom wasn't quite the same, and had small windows that weren't very good for drawing pictures. It did however, have one thing about it that he really did like.

 

“What are you drawing there, Harry?”

 

“A tree,” he said, “An ant, and that right there, is Padfoot.”

 

“Good show! Looks just like him.”

 

Harry turned around and grinned at the skeleton that had come up through the floor. Its strangle limpid eyes stared at him, and its bony arms dangled right through the wood down into a very dark hole. There was no real hole in the ground, Harry had poked at the strange shadows with his foot. His skeleton friend had assured him that it wouldn't make the house fall down, or cause anyone any harm. It was just a lonesome spirit, it said, much like Harry himself. Occasionally, Harry thought that assessment was quite accurate.

 

“Dad's coming home today!” Harry said excitedly, skipping down the hall.

 

The specter followed him, loping through the floorboards with its long arms.

 

“Is that so? Is that why you're so excited?” it asked, with a crooked grin.

 

“Yeah!,” Harry chirped, “I drew him a picture. I hope he likes it.”

 

“He will, I'm sure of it. Why don't you go down and say hello? I can hear someone coming to the door,” the skeleton said.

 

“Really?” Harry said, his eyes growing wide, “Are you sure?”

 

“I'm sure,” it said, its watery gaze on him, “pat down your hair, and straighten out your shirt.”

 

Harry did as he was told and nervously twirled around for an assessment.

 

“Good boy,” the skeleton chuckled, “Now go down and meet your father, I'll still be here when you come back.”

 

Of course, Harry's hair was it's usual messy state, and his shirt was terribly rumpled as was the case with most children. His glasses were crooked on his nose, and his bony body looked a bit peaky and underfed, despite that not being the case in the slightest. No one would have guessed that earlier in the year the boy had suffered constant colds, or that he had been in bed for most of the spring due to persistent fevers. From what the skeleton gleaned from snatches of conversation, this was a constant worry to the boy's parents. The skeleton observed his young charge tearing down the stairs excitedly, as though he hadn't a care in the world.

 

“Poor little blighter,” it murmured, before dipping down into the floor and vanishing, “At least if he dies here, I'll finally have some company.”

 

Harry tore down the dark hallway just before the front door. Pictures of his family surrounded him on all sides of the stiff muggle type; mostly of his mum and dad, his uncles and some of Harry when he was very young. Shoes were in a pile by the door, and Harry's drawings had been tacked up on a push pin board above them. It was homey and bright, despite the dank weather and grim windows that let in only the smallest bit of gray light. The door was opening and Harry pushed the knob the rest of the way, despite being told a hundred times not to answer the door when he was alone.

 

“Dad!” he shouted excitedly, only to be quite disappointed, “Oh, it's only you.”

 

“Only me?” Sirius said, mock offended, “Your favorite godfather?”

 

“You're my only godfather,” Harry reminded him.

 

“Harry!” Lily chided, having arrived from the drawing room, “That's not very nice!”

 

“I'm sorry Padfoot,” Harry said, wrapping his arms briefly around his long legs, “I was expecting someone else. I love you too.”

 

Sirius took off his coat and hung it up, flinging his shoes in a pile. Harry wish he could fling his shoes the way Padfoot did, his Mum would have shouted at him if he did the same. Sirius was also carrying bags, and on some of them Harry could see Honeydukes distinctive stamp.

 

“Is Dad coming home?” Harry asked, his eyes still lingering on bags that promised lots of sweets.

 

Sirius gave Harry a wry smile, “He's managed to get caught up in something quite serious. He'd be here if he could, you know that.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said tentatively, looking down at his sock feet. He wasn't going to cry, really.

 

“How about after I'm done having a chat with your Mum, we set up a game of exploding snap right on the good dining room table?” Sirius said.

 

“Really?” Harry asked excitedly, his disappointment temporarily abated, “are there candies in those bags?”

 

“Might be,” Sirius said, with a twinkle in his eye, “Might not be either.”

 

Harry's eyes lit up, chocolate toffees were his favorite. And caramels, and just about anything that was sticky and lingered on the tongue long enough to fill the mouth with a rainbow of flavors. He liked every flavor beans too, but was especially leery of them after accidentally eating an ear wax flavored one.

 

“Don't eat too many sweets Harry,” Lily admonished, “Dinner will be ready soon.”

 

Sirius had ushered Harry into the dining room with the big table that had the curled feet, and had let Harry tear into the various bags with abandon. Harry found toffees, and caramels and of course chocolate frogs and their cards, he chewed through chocolates with gooey centers and spied ever lasting bubblegum in bright green wrapping. Sirius and his mother were discussing things in the kitchen, and Harry pretended to be completely engrossed in his candies so he could listen.

 

Sirius had begun to murmur in a low voice, “...accident at the Nott place, wasn't his fault, he wasn't even there. A bloke on his team...”

 

A chocolate frog made a mad dash onto the china cabinet and nearly knocked over a gravy boat, sending Harry tumbling after it. He rescued his mother's china before it met an untimely end, but missed some of the conversation.

 

“...hearing at the Wizengamot. Old Nott isn't going to let this go, he went spare...”

 

Harry swallowed several of his toffees at once, and coughed slightly when they got stuck in his throat. He couldn't really hear his mother's voice, she always spoke too low. But he could make out Sirius' reply.

 

“Oh, come on Lils, it's not like she's going to be missed! It's practically a service to the public!”

 

“Sirius!” Harry heard his mother shout, “Whether it's what we all think or not, you still shouldn't say it out loud, speaking ill of the dead!”

 

There were some other quiet murmurs that Harry couldn't hear, then his mother's footsteps heading towards the dining room. Harry tried to appear engrossed in his chocolate frogs, whom he had sent leaping about the chairs in large numbers, leaving frog footprints all over everything.

 

“You could at least think about that poor little boy losing his Mum!” his mother said to Sirius, before she stared open mouthed at the carnage an entire pile of chocolate frogs could create, “good grief, Harry! What in the world-!”

 

Sirius spotted the carnage, and then laughed riotously, “Brilliant! I told you Lils, six years old and he's a Maurader already! Hogwarts won't know what hit it in another five!”

 

Lily huffed, and magicked away the mess with her wand, Harry watched as the chocolate frogs ceased their frantic hopping and stacked themselves neatly back in their boxes.

 

“That was cool, Mum!” Harry said excitedly, he couldn't wait until he had his own wand, just like his Dad's.

 

Sirius stacked the Exploding Snap cards on the de-frogged table, shoving the toffee wrappers off to the side. Lily couldn't help but roll her eyes, muttering something about boys not outgrowing their dorm habits.

 

Sirius sniggered and said to Harry quietly, “It's not like she was ever in the boy's dorm when it was really messy, your Dad had fits trying to get us to clean up the place to impress your Mum.”

 

Harry giggled along with his godfather, wishing sorely that his father were here playing Snap with them, right now. He crammed another toffee into his mouth, the sugar only slightly abating the awful swirling sensation in his stomach. He couldn't say why, but he felt very bad all of a sudden, very sad, despite the candies and congenial atmosphere.

 

Hours later, after chocolate frogs and dinner and exploding snap had been thoroughly enjoyed, Harry was reading in his pajamas by the window sill. Sirius had gone home, and it was just Harry and his Mum now, and she was usually writing late into the night these last few days. He flipped his picture book about magical creatures, pausing at the unicorn pawing gently at the moss covered ground. It was night time in the picture, and the unicorn looked especially beautiful with its white main and high haunches, glowing softly.

 

“Are you ready for bed?” his Mum asked him.

 

“Mm hm,” he said distractedly.

 

“Another half hour, and then it's off to dream land with you,” his Mum warned him, before going downstairs.

 

Harry continued to flip through his book, watching plimpy's and mermen and augrey's go by. The thestrals were the last in the book, their strange black bodies highlighted by the light of a full moon. Harry had never seen a thestral before, most people hadn't because you could only see them if you had seen someone die. Harry suddenly wondered about the little boy his mother was talking about, if he could see thestrals now. It became very cold by the window sill, and the book tumbled from Harry's hands. His arms were shaking, his shoulders began to shudder and he curled up in a tiny ball, his body trembling.

 

“What's wrong?” the skeleton asked him, coming up from the floor, “Are you all right?”

 

Harry sniffed, his shoulders shook.

 

“Do you want me to get your Mum? I'm sure I could make something rattle,” it offered.

 

“N-no,” Harry stammered, “I want my-”

 

His sniffles turned into a quiet sob, tears unabashedly running down his cheeks. He hated that boy and his mother who had died, for taking his father away from him. But he couldn't bear hating someone, who hadn't really done anything wrong.

 

It was only a few days after the disappointment of his father's absence, that Harry was ushered to the Weasley's because of an emergency errand.

 

“But I don't know Ronald,” Harry had sulked.

 

His mother wore the expression of the truly harassed. Harry had not been in a pleasant mood since that morning and had fought every step of the way. From being particularly choosy about what to wear, to refusing every breakfast possible, right until his mother had lost her temper and had shouted at him. Harry's reaction naturally, had been that of tears.

 

“You met when you both were very young,” Lily said, “And Neville will be there too. You know him.”

 

“I don't like Neville,” Harry said, even though he couldn't recall having ever met him.

 

“You don't like anyone today,” Lily sighed.

 

“Not really,” Harry said.

 

Lily couldn't help but laugh a little, “Oh Harry. It's only a day, then you'll be back home.”

 

“I want to stay with Padfoot,” Harry said, “Or Moony. When's Dad coming home?”

 

“Someday you'll understand,” Lily said, “We all have very important things to do today, things that you'll be very happy about when you're older.”

 

Harry mumbled, “I'm not happy, now.”

 

Lily embraced Harry suddenly, squeezing the air out of him. Her shoulders shuddered slightly, enough for Harry to understand that he had said something to upset her. Harry wasn't sure what he would do if he'd made his Mum cry, as miserable as he was, it hadn't been his intention.

 

“I know,” she said quietly, petting his hair, “I wish things could be different.”

 

“It's okay mum,” he said, clutching her, “I'll be on my best behavior. Promise.”

 

When they had arrived at the Weasley Burrow there were introductions and exclamations, adults and children all foolishly running around in a frantic, excited clamor. It startled Harry terribly, and he hid behind his mother's legs. He was not impressed with the odd looking house, it smelled funny, and was full of magical things and children. This was nothing like the ordered muggle house he was accustomed to.

 

“Oh,” the red headed woman exclaimed, “This must be little Harry!”

 

Harry peered out from behind his mother's robes. Mrs. Weasley was a very plump, loud woman who cheerfully told Harry he was going to have a wonderful time, despite the scowl on his face. A few older redheads milled about paying him no mind, and he was soon hugging his mother goodbye and being herded out into the backyard. Harry blinked in the bright sunlight. It was a lovely June day, very warm, with only a few fluffy white clouds in the sky.

 

“Are you a vampire?” a timid voice asked him.

 

Harry saw the brown haired boy sitting on a large boulder. He was a bit fat, and wore traditional wizarding robes, which looked strange and out of place on such a warm day. Harry was wearing his favorite blue shorts, and a green t-shirt, sensible clothes as his Mum had always said, for summer weather.

 

“That's silly,” said Harry, “everyone knows vampires burn up in the sun. They turn to ashes. If I'm not ashes, then I'm obviously not a vampire.”

 

“Oh,” the boy said, “Well, that's good then. I had wondered, you're so pale.”

 

Harry blinked at this strange boy, who hadn't been able to tell the difference from a vampire and an ordinary person. He couldn't help but question if the boy wasn't a bit daft.

 

“I don't like outdoors,” Harry said, scooting into the shade, “It's hot, and there are lots of bugs that like to bite.”

 

“Yeah,” the boy agreed eagerly, “I can't stand spiders. Neither can Ron.”

 

Harry glared, “Spiders don't bite. It's flies and mosquitos and things that are awful.”

 

“Oh,” the boy said, blinking owlishly, “I'm Neville Longbottom. Who are you?”

 

“Harry Potter,” he said, kicking a clod of dirt, “we were supposed to have met when we were babies after you killed You Know Who. Dad told me all about it a hundred times.”

 

Neville blushed furiously, “I don't know anything about killing anyone it's just what I was told. If I did hurt someone, I didn't mean it!”

 

“So it was an accident,” Harry said, “That makes sense, I suppose. I haven't ever heard of a baby killing anything.”

 

“Because you know everything!” Ron's voice interrupted.

 

Harry blinked in the light, and observed the red headed boy who had ran from the house. He was thin and his skin flushed with pink, he looked quite annoyed, although over what Harry couldn't quite say. There was no mistaking the boy for anyone else, it must have been Ronald Weasley.

 

“I don't know everything,” Harry shot back, “But I bet I know more than you!”

 

“Stop it, Ron,” Neville said, “And you too, Harry.”

 

“I don't have to listen to you,” Harry said, “You're not my mum.”

 

Ron turned a dramatic shade of red, “Neville's the Boy Who Lived! You should pay attention to what he says, he's going to grow up and be a great wizard someday!”

 

“I am not,” Neville said, “Stop saying those things! It only gets me into trouble!”

 

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. His father had told him many times about brave Neville and how he had killed the most powerful wizard in the world when he was just a babe. But upon seeing the reality, it was an entirely different story. Neville was painfully ordinary and possibly a bit dull. It was nothing like the hero his Dad had made him out to be, and Harry felt quite relieved. No wonder his Dad loved him best when Neville and his friend were so foolish by comparison.

 

“You're both the most ridiculous sight I've ever seen,” Harry said.

 

Ron walked right up to him, his irritation evident in his rapidly reddening cheeks.

 

“Say that again!” he said, shoving Harry harshly.

 

Harry stumbled, surprised, he'd never been pushed before. But his father had told him to always stand up for himself against bullies, Harry glared at Ron and shoved him back.

 

“I said, you look ridiculous,” and on an impulse, because Harry's day had been awful and he wanted it to be awful for everyone else too, he added, “And Neville's the biggest coward I've ever met!”

 

A shoving match began, with both boys trying to overpower the other, their shoes scuffing on the dirt and bodies tumbling in the grass.

 

“Stop it!” Neville shouted, “You're going to get into trouble!”

 

“What are you boys doing out here?” Mrs. Weasley shouted.

 

Harry and Ron both stopped their tumbling, and stood on their feet. Harry had a scraped knee and a grass stain on his shorts, while Ron had bumped elbow and puffy red hair full of sticks and leaves. No serious injuries had been delivered to either party, but Harry was quite out of breath.

 

“Nothing,” Ron said, at the same time as Harry.

 

“They were fighting!” said Neville.

 

Harry glared at him, no one liked a snitch.

 

Molly scolded them both, but no further discipline was undertaken, as a raucous noise was heard from the house. She quickly left as Ron whispered to Neville, 'the twins most likely'. Harry wondered what sort of people made things explode often enough that their own sibling paid it no mind.

 

“They sound dangerous,” Harry said.

 

Ron just rolled his eyes, “Not really. They're my older brothers, they're not going to hurt anyone, but if you have a puffskein you'd better keep it out of their sights. My last one was used for bludgeor practice.”

 

Harry scrunched up his face, “That's evil!”

 

“It's only a puffskein,” Ron countered.

 

“It's still a thing, like you or me!” Harry said, “You're whole family is mental.”

 

“It is not!”

 

“Is too!”

 

But before renewed fisticuffs could begin, Ron squealed and jumped back, Harry saw the creature of contention crawling along the grass. It was a gigantic brown spider, almost the size of Harry's palm. Harry laughed and held out his hand, letting the spider crawl onto it. He held it out to Ron who shrieked like a girl.

 

“What's the matter, it's just a spider,” Harry said.

 

“Keep it away!” Ron shouted.

 

“Stop it!” Neville said, “He's scared of them!”

 

Harry laughed, “I know he's scared, frightened of a tiny little spider! A teensy weensy little spider!”

 

Harry pushed the spider towards Neville who also cried out in fright.

 

“Are both of you big fat cowards?” Harry said, “It's only a bug!”

 

Neville flailed his limbs, dislodging the spider from Harry's hands, sending it flying amongst the grass. Harry noticed it struggling a few feet away, and dashed to rescue it. He cradled the spider who was struggling to right itself, one of it's legs bent.

 

“It's hurt!” Harry said outraged, “You nearly killed it!”

 

“Sorry,” muttered Neville.

 

“I'm not sorry,” Ron said, “It's a spider.”

 

“A spider?” a voice said behind Harry, “We can't have that, can we little brother!”

 

A shoe clad foot stomped on the spider, narrowly missing Harry's fingers.

 

“There you are Ron, your spider troubles are over,” another voice chimed in, “Best not to dwell on it, or else you'll be sorted into Hufflepuff.”

 

“Very funny,” Ron said.

 

Harry stared at the still wiggling squished spider organs and limbs, and looked up to see the long legs of a taller boy. He had the distinct Weasley hair, freckles, and was currently smiling in a way that Harry felt was intolerably smug. These were the infamous puffskein murderers, Harry ascertained, and their newest victim had been his eight legged friend.

 

“Hullo Harry,” the boy said, “I'm Gred and this is my brother Forge. Pleasur-”

 

Before the boy could finish, Harry had landed a punch directly in the one place he could reach from his vantage point on the ground. Fred, or George, Harry wasn't quite sure which, was now doubled over on the grass, barely able to utter a word.

 

The other twin laughed, “He hit Fred in the sickle sacks!”

 

“That's not funny!” Ron shouted.

 

“Grab him!” Fred managed, still curled on the ground.

 

George and Ron scrambled to go after Harry, Ron nearly grabbed him but Harry landed a punch on Ron's stomach that sent him doubling over. George finally wrangled Harry, hoisting him up by his underarms. Harry screamed, and kicked, biting all the while.

 

“He's like a wild animal!” George merrily exclaimed.

 

Fred had managed to stagger to his feet, “It's a good thing he's so skinny, he might be able to do some damage otherwise. Now let's see about a bit of retaliation.”

 

On the ground, a small spider teetered on the edge of the grass. Fred quickly snapped it up and held it out in front of Harry.

 

“All this noise for a spider,” Fred said, sighing, “it's really not worth it.”

 

He began pulling the legs off, one by one, Harry's screams became more frantic.

 

“Let's see how it does with three legs, oh oops! It fell over,” Fred had nabbed up the spider again after it's failed attempt at running away, “I suppose I should kill it.”

 

Harry shrieked in dismay when Fred crushed it right between his hands.

 

“There we are,” Fred said, separating his palms, “No need to make so much noise, you still have your friend.”

 

Fred smeared the dead spider on Harry's cheeks, who took that moment to try and kick George in the shins.

 

Fred laughed at him, “He's got to be taught that kicking another boy like that is not on.”

 

Neville had retreated to the edge of the overgrown shrubs, his eyes widening as he watched the goings on, as Harry struggled frantically and fruitlessly against his captors. Harry was near hysterical now, crying and fighting, his skin turning red from exertion and panic.

 

“Stop it!” Neville screamed, “You're all horrible!”

 

Ron stared at his friend, “But he's the one that started it!”

 

“You're torturing him! I can't stand it!” Neville cried.

 

George had dropped Harry to the ground, who frantically wiped his face to remove the bits of spider. Neville ran over to him, his concern evident.

 

“Are you all right?” Neville asked.

 

“Shut up!” Harry screamed, “You're all evil and wrong!”

 

Neville appeared quite shocked, staggering backwards.

 

“And you're the worst of all,” Harry gasped from the sobs that had his ribs heaving, “Stupid and a coward! I wish you'd died like your dad!”

 

Harry had realized that everyone had gone quite silent, and stared at him agog. Neville let out a shuddering sob and ran towards the house.

 

“You're the evil one!” Ron shouted, and took off towards Neville.

 

Harry was gulping in air in deep breaths, his vision blurry from so many tears. He hadn't really meant to say that at the time, but he'd meant it with every fiber of his being. If it weren't for Neville his Dad wouldn't have to leave so much, maybe his Mum wouldn't be in tears all the time. Everything revolved around You Know Who, and while Harry was glad such an evil person was dead, he hated the circumstances. A helpless little baby killing You Know Who, who grabbed up all the attention for himself without even trying. Neville was a baby, an idiot. He admitted it himself that he hadn't done a single thing to warrant all of the praise.

 

Harry sniffled and glared at the twins before running off into the woods.

 

“Wait!” He heard George's voice call after him.

 

“Just leave him, George,” Fred said, “if he wants to be a crybaby-”

 

“It's dangerous,” George countered, “you know what Mum will say.”

 

Harry didn't care about their concern, or about their Mum. He was tearing through the forest, the brambles catching on his knobby knees, scratching against his skin. He ran further and faster then he'd ever run before, until he couldn't see the trails that led back to the Weasley's house, deep into the woods so that none of the red headed boys could find him.

 

When Harry was winded, he found himself standing on a cliff overlooking a rushing river. He wiped his face, and stopped his haggard breaths. He made a seat out of a rock, and toyed with a few blades of grass. It was nice in the forest, quiet and calm but without anyone around or anything to do, Harry quickly found himself bored. He heard rustling from the river below and leaned over to see what kind of animal had come to visit.

 

“What a weird dog,” he said, observing the limping animal, its fur scruffy and mangled.

 

Harry wanted to get a closer look, perhaps in all his reading he had missed this particular creature. He ran to the lower overhang of the cliff, and slid his chest and arms over it. He could see the creature clearly here, and noticed its bulging eyes and bent teeth. It was panting, as though it were injured.

 

“Are you all right?” Harry said, outstretching his hand “Are you hurt?”

 

Harry had always wanted a dog, or any animal at all, magical or mundane. His Mum unfortunately was allergic, and Harry himself had a problem with cats. It didn't stop him from asking for an animal every birthday. Perhaps Harry could convince his parents to take it home, if the dog were hurt. But when the dog's eyes met his, Harry realized it wasn't a dog at all but something else entirely.

 

He could see snake-like slits glowing red in his mind's eyes, the dog distorting, bending until the long limbs of a man appeared. Harry felt a strange sort of blankness, as though all of his memories had just bled out of him. He couldn't remember why he was there in the forest, his name, or even his parents; his very life had vanished to be replaced by the existence of a stranger, pale and serpentine. Watching him with red, eerie eyes.

 

“Harry!”

 

His chest slipped against the rocks and grass and he slowly began to slide off the edge of the cliff. Strong arms wrapped around him and he was pulled back up, before he could plummet into the dark rushing water below.

 

“Goodness Harry,” the red headed man said, “What in the world were you doing, hanging over a ledge like that?”

 

It was Arthur Weasley, Molly's husband who had pulled him back from the cliff. Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes, he couldn't quite remember what he had been doing, if anything at all.

 

“Dunno,” he said, then a flash of an image hit him, “There was a dog down there, it looked like it was hurt.”

 

Arthur peered over the ledge but there was nothing there, only dead trees, big logs, and a lot of leaves.

 

“Well, it's certainly not there now,” Arthur said, “Come on, let's get you home and all cleaned up.”

 

Harry was reluctantly led through the woods back to the Weasley burrow, his mood grim and countenance surly. He saw Ron and Neville in the backyard, though only Neville stopped his playing and watched him, warily. Harry preferred the silent treatment, he was quite content to be ignored. Arthur brought him upstairs to the bathroom, and directed him to sit on the edge of bathtub. Harry did so, kicking his legs a bit while he watched Arthur rummage through the medicine cabinet.

 

“It may sting a bit,” Arthur said, holding out his wand, “Are you ready?”

 

Harry gave his consent, and the skin around his skinned knees and scratched up legs smarted before closing up completely.

 

“There we are,” Arthur said, “All patched up. Now, can you tell me Harry what you were doing in the woods? It's not a place a little boy should wander alone.”

 

“I ran away,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Why did you run away, Harry,” Arthur asked.

 

He said the question with such tired sincerity that Harry felt compelled to answer truthfully.

 

“Because Fred squashed a spider and then I hit him in the sickle sacks, then Ron and Neville were mean. And then George grabbed a hold of me, and Fred squashed another spider and put it on my face, so I yelled at them and left,” Harry said, in a single breath.

 

Arthur regarded Harry with an extraordinary amount of confusion. He opened his mouth, then closed it, and then shaking his head slightly, could only smile.

 

“I see,” he said, “Well, it will be quite some time before your parents come and get you. Do you like to read Harry? I can set you up in Percy's room. He's gone to a friends for a few days, as long as you promise not to be rough with his things you're welcome to them.”

 

Harry sighed, his breath flinging his messy hair into his eyes, “I promise, I'll be good.”

 

“I believe you,” Arthur said.

 

It was a very decent room, tidier then everywhere else Harry noticed, with the items older boys liked. Less toys, more books and a record player that had seen much better days, but it was certainly an improvement from the absolute chaos that seemed to reign downstairs.

 

Arthur hummed at the shelf, “I'm not sure how much is here that a little boy would like.”

 

“I can read anything,” Harry said, boastfully, “But I do like magical creatures.”

 

Arthur seemed to take his statement as an amusing challenge.

 

“Is that so?” Arthur said, picking up a thick looking book, “Then how about we read some of this together.”

 

They read together, Arthur was very surprised that Harry could read a book meant for third years at Hogwarts. But soon enough Molly was at the door, and Arthur excused himself to speak with his wife. She did not look pleased that Harry was sitting on her older son's bed flipping through one of his books but she didn't say anything about it. Harry tried to be as incognito as possible, attempting to disappear behind the large textbook. It was perhaps better that he didn't listen to the frantic sound of Mrs. Weasley's voice right outside his door.

 

Quite a few hours later, after a humiliating confrontation between parents and a lot of tears, Harry was finally at home in his pajamas eating a bowl of ice cream. His father sat at the table with him, carefully observing his every move, while his mother fretted and Padfoot made his opinion known.

 

“No one at that age,” Padfoot said, “should be subjected to Fred and George Weasley.”

 

“Sirius,” Lily said, “Harry has to learn to get along with other children.”

 

“Not necessarily those other children,” James said, “And not anytime soon. One traumatic adventure was enough.”

 

“I'm not traumatized,” Harry said, continuing to shovel the ice cream into his mouth, it was good, he hadn't been able to bring himself to eat until now.

 

“Course you're not,” James said fondly, ruffling Harry's hair, “you've been very brave, going out into the woods all by yourself.”

 

“Which,” Lily smartly replied, “you shouldn't have done! Harry, those woods are dangerous. It's a wizarding woods, there are magical creatures everywhere. If you were in trouble, you should have found Mrs.Weasley.”

 

“I know all about magical creatures,” Harry mumbled from behind his spoon.

 

“He did make it out alive,” Sirius said, “without getting eaten by anything.”

 

Lily did not look very pleased with Sirius' input on the subject and graced him with a very strong glare.

 

“Besides,” Harry said, “Mrs. Weasley doesn't like me.”

 

James was surprised, “Harry, what in the world would make you think that?”

 

“She was angry,” Harry said, “And she shouted, even when Ron called me names.”

 

Lily sighed, “Harry, tell your father what you said to Mrs. Weasley before Sirius and I arrived.”

 

Harry swirled his spoon around the empty bowl, “I said she was fat. And that her house smelled.”

 

A slight wheezing noise was heard in Sirius' direction as he desperately tried to cover his laughter behind his hand. James was also biting his lip, while trying to remain stern about the situation.

 

“Harry, that wasn't very nice,” James managed, “or accurate.”

 

“The proper term is big boned,” Sirius helpfully supplied.

 

The look Harry's mum was shooting the two friends could have wilted flowers.

 

“She called me a hellion,” Harry sulked, “And an- an instigator. I don't even know what that means.”

 

“It means she thinks you started it,” Sirius said, “Which is obviously a fallacy.”

 

“Of course I didn't start it,” Harry insisted, “Ron did.”

 

“Harry,” Lily sighed, “It doesn't matter who started it. You attacked two boys, and they retaliated. They were wrong, but it was also wrong to upset them. You have to do what's right in these situations.”

 

“What if I don't want to,” Harry said, his eyes filling up with water, “they tortured it. It was a helpless spider, why's it wrong to try and save it?”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Lily said, “It was just a bug, it's not a person. Not the way little boys are.”

 

Harry's sniffling became catastrophic, “Why don't you understand!” he cried.

 

He leaped from the table, hurling his bowl and spoon to the floor. His footsteps pounded on the steps, with an accentuated loudness. They all winced when the door slammed, and all three rose from the table at once.

 

“Don't worry about it,” Sirius said, “let me go. You've both had a rough day, and I'm a fresh face in all this mess.”

 

Lily and James returned to their seats, James leaning his his head on one hand, his face pale and drawn from tiredness.

 

“I'll admit I don't quite understand it,” Lily said, “I can't see how a person could be less important than an animal.”

 

“That's just it, Lils,” James says, “To a kid who spends most of their time off on their own, it might as well be a real person. It's as good as one, for all the comfort it provides. I remember a paper bird that my old Uncle Balazar made for me. A little flying paper bird, just something he folded up and animated for me one morning, without another thought. Well, old Balazar was a relic when I was a babe, so he didn't last much longer. But that little paper bird, it became sort of a friend to me, took on a personality of its own. Something happened to it, I don't even remember now, I lost it or it just crumbled away after a long enough time – I mourned that little bird like a real person.”

 

“I suppose it's just like his imaginary friend,” Lily says, “That ghost he says lives with us.”

 

“Ghosts are a little more morbid than paper birds,” James admits, “But at least no one can squash a ghost.”

 

“That's very true,” Lily says, “though I wish he'd make some real friends.”

 

“He will in Hogwarts,” James replies, “Gryffindor is a friendly house.”

 

“I think you're counting your eggs before they hatch,” Lily says primly, “The amount he reads I bet we'll have a Ravenclaw on our hands.”

 

“Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff,” James said, “Doesn't matter to me, as long as he's happy.”

 

“I notice you did leave one house out of that equation,” Lily said wryly.

 

“You'd best believe it,” James said, a grin splitting across his face.

 

Lily smile is light, but her heart is heavy. She can't help but think of an old friend, and she suddenly wonders what would happen to Harry if he were sorted into Slytherin. But James mischievous smile brings to mind the same look on Harry's childish face, and she can't help but feel just a little bit relieved. They're so much alike, there's no doubt in her mind that Harry will be all right.

 

 


	5. Peter's Secret

**Peter's Secret**

 

The day he's brought into the Potter's house, Peter can barely open his eyes. They had laid him out on the guest bed, their voices quiet, as though preparing for a funeral. Peter could have hardly blamed them, for quite a few weeks, he'd thought that every breath he drew would be his last.

 

And yet, somehow he managed to recuperate, his body able to knit itself back together with the help of potions and salves, his mind gathering its last reserves in the spare bedroom he ends up occupying for the better part of a month. Even during the worst of his convalescence, Peter is well aware of the strange dance the marauders do around one another, the suspicions that are still cast like throwing stones despite the dark lord's death.

 

There is another tumultuous element to his homecoming in the shape of a small boy, who haunts Peter's room like a flickering ghost. Harry was nothing more than a baby the last time Peter saw him, and now he's a child with thoughts and wishes, all the things that make him real and alive. But of course, the marauders are suspicious and keep Harry away from him, and Peter doesn't blame them at all. In essence, what he had attempted to do even though it wasn't his own hand that would have done the killing, was the murder of a helpless child.

 

Peter knew he wasn't a cold man, an unfeeling man. But a baby in the grand scheme of things meant nothing to him, it was barely a thing at all. Barely thinking, feeling, hardly anything compared to a full grown human being that could defend itself. He'd felt nothing over the possibility of an infant's demise, only a lingering guilt for the pain he might have caused old friends.

 

And yet, for all the warnings and cautions not to enter Peter's room it wasn't long before he heard light footsteps in the doorway.

 

“Hello,” Harry had said, “I'm Harry. I wrote letters to you, do you remember?”

 

Peter had been in quite a state then, barely able to keep himself together on the best of days. His body had been a horrifying sight, a shell of its former self. When he wasn't screaming he had been raving, and a quiet day had been a rare one. But on this day, his mind was silent, calm and steady; though not nearly ready to face the small boy with his father's face.

 

“I know you,” Peter had said, “You're Harry, James' son.”

 

Harry had nodded, the pleasure of being recognized evident in his expression.

 

“You're not really supposed to be in here by yourself,” Peter gently reminded him.

 

Harry nodded, “I know. Mum's busy, so I thought I'd come in anyway. I wanted to meet you.”

 

“Why?” Peter couldn't help but ask.

 

He wondered if they had told Harry anything about his history, about the marauders story and what they had done at Hogwarts. And what Peter had tried to do to them, years of bitterness later.

 

“Because when I was bored, I read your letters over and over,” Harry said plainly, “They were interesting. Not many people want to talk about magical creatures, and if they do they don't know much about them.”

 

It's a whiff of the arrogance that belonged to James but without all the meanness he had later. Harry's spectacles are crooked and his hair messy, his clothes have some grass stains on the pants from running outside. He's no different from any other little boy Peter has ever seen, except for the way he speaks. He's very bright, perhaps quite a bit brighter than other, average eight year old children.

 

“But you seem to know a lot,” Harry said, “A lot about things that I don't.”

 

It's flattery if Peter's ever heard it, and certainly Harry is no stranger to the effect kind words can have on those around them, whether he means them or not. Peter remembers Sirius and James at school, and how they'd encourage one another with flippant words of praise. It was quite a different thing to have words like that directed at himself.

 

“So I was wondering,” Harry said, “if you could tell me all about them.”

 

“About what, exactly?” Peter asked, curiously.

 

“Augureys'” Harry said, a smile lighting up his face, “And why people think they're so frightening.”

 

“It's a very long story,” Peter said, “And has a lot to do with an old wizarding superstitions in the fifteenth century.”

 

“I like long stories,” Harry said, and became comfortable on the sitting chair in front of Peter's bed, “Mum won't be back for a while yet.”

 

Perhaps it was this incident that had allowed Peter back into the marauders good graces, or more importantly, what had proven to Lily that he wasn't the same person he had been. She had scolded Harry and taken him away after a half hour, but the glance she had given Peter was more secure and not the suspicious hardened scrutiny of the last few weeks.

 

In a matter of months, Peter had recovered and Harry was allowed in his presence for whatever length of time he chose.

 

It was a fortuitous boon. Harry's trusting nature allowed James, Sirius and even the suspicious Remus to gain confidence in Peter's personality. Enough so that they began to leave Harry alone with Peter, though not for any great length of time. But with James away a great deal and Sirius and Remus embroiled neck deep in intrigue with the Order, it left precious little time for Lily, who had her own worries with the witches in the Wizengamot, to be choosy about those capable of looking after her son.

 

It was one of the days that Peter had brought Harry to the park that the dark shadow of what was to come began to appear. The day had begun quite normally, cheerful even. The sun had been shining through the clouds, pouring warm light on everything. The trees were in full bloom, summer still hanging in the air. Harry was rambunctiously chasing little birds that had landed on the see-saw, his legs powering him over rocks and grass until catastrophically he tumbled over a small embankment.

 

“Harry!” Peter called, “Are you all right?”

 

Peter didn't hear anything but it was such a small hill, surely he wasn't hurt.

 

“Harry,” Peter said in a warning tone, “It's not very nice to play tricks.”

 

They were words that assuaged his sudden panic, the creeping feeling of dread that was overwhelming him. For some inexplicable reason while the sun shone down brilliantly from the sky, Peter shivered.

 

“Harry?” he said again.

 

Peter stumbled along the grass, Harry's messy black hair was evident against the brilliant green ground. He had tumbled at the edge of the park, where the lawn met a tiny clump of trees. Peter nearly sighed in relief, Harry was all right aside from grass stains on his new shorts, though his gaze was fixed towards the long shadows the trees made.

 

Peter leaned down to touch Harry gently on the shoulder – and then drew back in shock. Harry's shoulder was ice cold, it was like being burned. An unsettling wind blew past the trees, shaking leaves from their branches.

 

“I think it's time to go home now,” Peter said, the trembling in his voice evident, “your mother is making supper.”

 

Senseless words as Peter's stomach twisted, he couldn't help his own confused fear. What was going on, what in the world had just happened?

 

A shuddering breath, Harry it seemed had been crying. Peter reached out to help but his arms were swatted away.

 

“Leave me alone!” Harry sobbed, as he scrambled onto his feet.

 

It was impossible for Peter to keep up with the pounding feet of a little boy. A while later, out of breath and panting, he managed to get back to James' house.

 

“What's happened to Harry?” Lily had managed to be home early.

 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Peter said, the sweat still trickling down his brow, “He's very upset but he won't say why.”

 

“Did you speak to him?” her suspicious gaze might have wounded him many years ago.

 

He shrugged, “Nothing of importance. He was in the park and then became upset. I ran after him but well, I'm no match for a nine year old boy.”

 

“That's awfully stra-” Lily was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the telephone and excused herself.

 

Peter slumped on the stairs that led up to their bedrooms and used a handkerchief to dab at his forehead. He magicked it away right as he saw a pair of sock clad feet near his shoulders.

 

“She's dead,” it was Harry's voice, bleak and grim.

 

Peter jumped, “Who's dead?”

 

“Oh!” Lily's cry made them both jump.

 

Harry had a grim set to his jaw while Wormtail waited, his hands clenched into thin air. There was something wrong in the air, he knew it as sure as he had known when things had begun to go wrong with the death eaters.

 

Lily hung up the phone with a solemn finality.

 

“Harry,” she said cautiously.

 

“Don't!” Harry screamed.

 

He clapped his hands over his ears.

 

“I know she did, I know it! She told me! It's horrible I can't stand it!” Harry shrieked.

 

His small feet pounded up the stairs.

 

Lily looked as devastated as Harry had been. Peter reached out to her hands and she started when he touched them.

 

“I'm sorry,” Peter said.

 

“I don't know what's wrong,” Lily said, “one minute he's fine the next he's upset or angry and he won't tell me the reason. But I can tell he's afraid, so terribly afraid of something.”

 

“Is someone hurt?” Peter asked.

 

“One of Harry's schoolmates died,” Lily said, woodenly, “it was an accident. H _ow did he know_?”

 

Peter felt a chill run up his back.

 

“May have a knack for divination,” Peter said with a squeak, “perhaps?”

 

Lily's skin went ashen.

 

“That night,” she said, “when I ran with Harry we came across Voldemort in the forest.”

 

Peter's blood chilled, he didn't want to think about any of that but he swallowed down the shout that was desperate to escape his throat and encouraged her to continue.

 

“He could have killed us,” Lily said, “he raised his wand. But he stopped. He laughed at us. And we ran. I never understood why because nothing stopped him from murdering Neville's father and torturing his mother, did it? I keep thinking that he must have done something to Harry that night. Harry was so sick as a child and then now he's better but ordinary children aren't like that, they don't have conversations with ghosts people can't see, they don't know _when children have died!_ ”

 

Consumed by a bleak terror Peter recalled Bergedwyld Castle, the run down estate that old Nott inhabited during the days of the Dark Lord. With great pride Nott would relate that the castle itself had been burned to the ground at least six times, and the manor with it's old boards battered gray by the sea and the wind, had been rebuilt on top of the stone foundations. The ruins of the castle towers could still be found, he had said proudly, if one knew where to look for them in the forest.

 

However, the glorious days of the manor had long been a memory when Peter had been invited inside, its interior as rotten and decrepit as the current owner. The village that lay by Bergedwyld Castle feared the place for a reason, and it had just as much to do with the current Nott as it had with his long dead dead ancestors.

 

Old Nott was a relic even then, his bony hands curled like a skeleton's over the well worn arms of his paisley chair, voice crackling as he described whatever new terror he had concocted for those that displeased him. Muggles made the best test subjects he had said, because they had no innate knowledge of what they were experiencing, their reactions were unguarded and the most raw. Voldemort had, of course, summarily agreed. Peter had sat on the rotten chaise lounge, his back straight and his terror visible to anyone who had looked, engulfed by the sudden frantic knowledge that these were utterly mad men.

He had naturally known this before, in great and sordid detail having had to prove his worth to be allowed into the inner circle, but it was one thing to do terrible acts when engorged with blood lust and excitement, and quite another to view people as objects to pick apart all the time. Old Nott enjoyed these leisurely repasts the most, reclining like a decrepit sheik in his chair, the smoke billowing from his elaborate pipes, while Voldemort intoned about blood purity, the muggle problem, how they were going to sort this all out - _to the benefit of all_.

 

It was revolting to think about how passive he had been then, how utterly ensnared by their power, their awfulness, the ability they appeared to have to do anything at all. But of all the players in their mad tea party, the one man who stood out had been Nott himself. Even Bellatrix in her fervent madness, bowed down to his superior ability to commit unseemly atrocities. He was a revolting specimen, but blindingly brilliant. No one could deny his astounding intelligence or intimidating presence, not even the Dark Lord.

 

“Do you know what we need?” Old Nott had intoned, his voice a dusty gravel pit, “One of those mortuus vivens.”

 

Voldemort had been prodding the fire with an old poker, Peter sat stiffly with his tea cup in hand as Bellatrix loomed over the chaise, her beetle black eyes observing him closely. They'd had tea, cups and saucers had been strewn about all over the place. It was still a very strange thing for Peter to observe Voldemort doing human things, sipping with his pinky extended, buttering a crumpet, listening to a very old man groan on about inconsequential things.

 

“And what,” Rosier said, “is a mortuus vivens aside from the obvious connotations.”

 

Nott's mouth had upturned, and his crooked teeth had poked out over his lips.

 

“Why Rosier,” he said, “I had thought no one would ever ask. Let me tell you about this most fascinating creature of wizarding past.”

 

Rosier had snorted, his black hair tossed back with the nodding of his head, “This ought to be edifying.”

 

A round of chortled laughter came from all the dark corners of the study, but a particularly loud crackle of the fire had everyone's attention.

 

“Silence,” Voldemort had intoned, “let him tell the story.”

 

Even Snape had moved from his dark corner and dignified them with the presence of his long, pale face flickering by the light of the fire. When the Dark Lord deemed something Nott said with importance, it had quantitative meaning.

 

“They say some of the oldest houses, our houses,” Nott said, with an element of pride, “produce wizards with a most interesting distinction. This distinction comes in the form of unusual magic. A wizard that travels the lands between the living and the dead, quite literally.”

 

“Appropriately vague,” Rosier cut in.

 

Nott waved his hand, dismissing his comment, “Their magic is consistently dark, even their cheering charms. Without the presence of other dark wizards they become sickly and weak, they feed on all the wretched ambiances found in nasty places, or so they say. They can conjure spirits and not the kind of dullards that wander around Hogwarts rattling their chains and moaning, I mean the kind of ghosts who can fight, arms to arm, like any living man.”

 

Voldemort ceased his torment of the fire, and stood up, his eyes gleaming. It had always put Peter on edge when the Dark Lord appeared transfixed.

 

“Imagine a battle like that,” Nott continued, “the entire quantity of a graveyard doing the fighting for you. But most stunningly, if a dark wizard has a mortuus vivens following them about their power is amplified. No one would beat a dark wizard in a duel with them around.”

 

Nott smiled, the gaps in his crooked teeth evident for all to see, and Peter fancied that the old man could probably hear the spells clashing in his head and the desperate screams of dying men.

 

The flames are playing across Voldemort's face, his posture stiff and expression blank but Peter knows better. This was when Voldemort was at his most alert, and his most dangerous.

 

“There is another thing mortuus vivens are famous for,” Voldemort intones, “the lifeless vortex.”

 

Hadrian's eyes alight with interest, and that's when Peter knew the conversation would be headed into a direction he'd find utterly detestable.

 

“A mortuus vivens,” Voldemort said, “is the only wizard capable of creating a weapon out of pain. The worse the tortures they endure in life, the greater their suffering both emotional and physical, and the stronger and more powerful their magic.”

 

Rosier speaks up, his confusion evident, “What do you mean by pain? Certainly a paper cut is quite different than having a limb hacked off.”

 

Bellatrix had become interested, “Is it just physical, or emotional? Could you torture someone in front of them and create a vortex that way?”

 

Voldemort acknowledged them with a sinister smile, “Both intriguing questions. I've never met a mortuus vivens in person, by that rational I cannot say.”

 

“But it has been written by ancient wizards past that even mild discontent amplified and augmented by such a powerful magical being, can blot out entire muggle towns in only a few minutes. Add in some fine torture, emotional discord” Voldemort poked the fire ruthlessly, “They are truly, a weapon of mass destruction.”

 

“Is that so?” Hadrian says, his interest peaked, “And where precisely can you cite that information?”

 

Voldemort hisses out a laugh, “In a tome I found in a dusty cubby.”

 

They had talked like old friends, it was something that lingered with Peter now especially since Old Nott was still free.

 

“Oh, of course,” Hadrian says, with sarcastic emphasis, “Like all of your discoveries.”

 

Peter had never seen Voldemort laugh genuinely, like an ordinary person. It really had been quite terrifying, and the other death eaters had seemed quite uncomfortable. Even Snape's shoulders jutted with fright, nearly reaching his ears. Voldemort's laugh was a twisted, and tormented sound, Peter had heard it plenty in Azkaban when the dementors were looming over him, their bald heads and faces a mockery of what he had seen before.

 

The strange conversation had lingered in his head for many years, he knew that Voldemort had been looking for a mortuus vivens for a very long time. Yet, anyone who had the power must have been well hidden because it was never mentioned again. Peter had read a book on the subject out of morbid curiosity and had been relieved when it had mentioned that the likelihood of a mortuus vivens reaching adulthood was so exceptionally low as to be non-existent. For of course, the beings needed dark magic in profusion to survive and who would ever subject a child to such things? The poor things would wither into nothing before they ever reached adolescence. He put it out of his mind completely considering the search too far fetched for any dark wizard to undertake, until the memory came back unbidden staring at him from a set of emerald green eyes.

 

“I'm sure it's nothing serious Lils,” Peter had said to her, holding her hands as they trembled, “everyone was checked at Hogwarts for any curses or hexes of any sort.”

 

It hadn't exactly put Lily at ease but she had dropped the matter and gone to see to Harry who was crying upstairs.

 

Peter knew what he had to do. The book had mentioned a simple test, fool proof really, that would reveal one way or the other if Peter was right or not. He was so desperately hoping he was wrong and Harry was nothing more than a bit odd and a bit sickly from all the time spent indoors. In the dark corners of his mind where dementors still breathed out their hissing whispers, Peter knew he was only lying to himself.

 

An opportunity to test his hypothesis finally came when a special package arrived at the house for Harry.

 

“It's going to be exciting,” Peter said to Harry, “Flying your new broom.”

 

Harry managed a smile that quickly burst out into excited chatter when Sirius and James gathered their things.

 

Peter stood at the edge of the park they'd chosen for Harry's first real broom flight. Under the assistance of obscurifiction charms, Harry quickly becomes capable at getting off the ground. Peter is supposed to be on the lookout for muggles and everyone's attention is undivided on Harry's first flight.

 

Peter casts a silencio before Harry lowers to the ground. He took out his equipment turning its dials and setting up the charm on his arithmancy compass just right. Peter went ashen as the answer revealed itself in the palm of his hand. When the mechanism was pointed at James' son, Harry Potter, the dial began to reverse, the roman numerals ticked down into the symbol for infinity. The machine acted as though it was broken, and Peter knew if the silencio over the machine had been broken it would have emitted a high pitched whine.

 

In front of Sirius, in front of James and even Lily, he held the secret to deadly knowledge and none of them would be any wiser to it. A mortuus vivens in the family, it was too much to even consider.

 

But the powerful thrill of knowing died as quickly as it came. He watched Harry tumble on the broom, dive down to the ground at break neck speed. James catches him before he falls and it's a moment Peter could only describe as pure joy. In Harry's laughter and smile Peter found something special, a little boy who knew too much but was cheerful despite it.

 

Peter can see the smile fade on that young face as quickly as it came, troubled thoughts taking over the momentary joy in flight. Just like the dials in Peter's hand steal away the pleasures he'd felt over the knowledge he'd gained.

 

_I want to protect him_ , is Peter's overwhelming thought, _at any cost._

 

But what followed soon after was a fear so strong it choked him. If anyone caught him no matter how noble or ignoble, the information was in his head to steal. Legilimens, occulomancy and good old fashioned torture could reveal the dreadful secret. There was only one solution, graven and ugly.

 

“You're leaving?” it was an accusation.

 

Peter was in his room packing his things, he had to leave. To get away. Even being in the same house with the knowledge he had was putting everyone in danger and he'd done plenty of that already. He'd go off on a journey or ten, look up his old contacts in the Magical Creatures department in South America, possibly make a home there for a while until it would all blow over.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said, pained by the look of betrayal on the young boy's face, “I must but I'll write and send you things. Exciting things! I promise.”

 

“I don't want you to go,” Harry said, “I don't-”

 

The boy paused the look on his face simultaneously confused and downcast.

 

“Dad says I don't make friends easily because I'm difficult and I don't mean to be,” he said, “but that's because nobody understands me the way you do.”

 

Peter was surprised. Was Harry manipulating, at his young age? It was very effective, a wave of guilt nearly drowned him where he stood. If the matter hadn't been so grave he would have unpacked immediately.

 

“I doubt your father said that,” Peter said.

 

“Not in the same words,” Harry said, glumly, “ but he meant it. I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”

 

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing but there it was.

 

“Harry,” Peter started.

 

“Look,” Harry stuttered, “Dad has Uncle Sirius and Remus has Mum and that leaves me and you. You're my only friend and when you leave I won't have anybody and neither will you.”

 

Peter is touched but he's also very sad.

 

“When I leave,” he said, “and I must, whether I want to or not, I promise I'll still be your friend no matter what happens.”

 

He knows what it's like to feel like a third wheel, to feel second in someone else's friendship. To be a bit player in a story that he is neither allowed to see or understand.

 

“Promise?” Harry said, his eyes wide and hopeful.

 

“I promise,” Peter said.

 

With a shuddering breath Peter reached out and rested his hand on Harry's small head.

 

“Things will get better,” Peter said, “you'll go to Hogwarts and meet new people and you'll have as many friends as you like.”

 

“No I won't,” Harry mumbled.

 

His lip trembled and then he ran halfway up the stairs before turning around and gracing Peter with the angriest glare he'd seen on a ten year old.

 

“You're all alike,” Harry said, “lying to me! Thinking I don't know any better! I do know what's going on, I know what my father does and what's said about you! I'm not stupid!”

 

“What's said about me, Harry?” Peter said, his jaw tightening, “go on, you can tell me.”

 

Harry hesitated. He sniffed and used his sleeve to wipe his nose.

 

“That you were a traitor,” Harry said, “and you'll be one again.”

 

“That's a lie,” Peter said, “I would never betray you.”

 

“It wasn't me they were talking about,” Harry said quietly.

 

Peter left the very day after Harry received his Hogwarts letter. Harry had spent the day parading it around the house bursting with excitement, it was a welcome distraction from Peter's leaving. Though he was certainly depressed his favourite uncle had left for South America, he was over the moon with the potential for the next school year.

 

“Of course you got your letter,” James had said, as he warmed a pot of tea with his wand, “but if you hadn't, Sirius would have taken you to Hogwarts gates on his motorcycle!”

 

“Really?” Harry asked, he'd always wanted to ride that motorcycle.

 

“Don't put ideas into his head,” Lily said, “it's bad enough having him on your broom all the time.”

 

Sirius leaned back on his chair and smiled smugly.

 

“Just wait until he's on the quidditch team Lils,” Sirius said, “most of us get hit with a bludgeor our first game.”

 

“Is that wise Sirius,” Remus said as he lifted his head from a very long scroll he had been writing all morning, “Lil's jinxes are quite strong this morning with a little one leaving the nest in the near future.”

 

A welcome cup of tea was plunked in front of Remus by James, as Lily fussed with Harry to be sure his clothes were straightened out. They were going to Gringotts together soon to gather up old wands left in storage and look at the enormous quantity of strange items James had kept in another vault for all these years to see if anything could be returned or given away to whomever actually owned it. It was a rather boring errand in Harry's estimation but he would enjoy looking at the family portraits as sometimes they said funny things.

 

“Gryffindor has been on a losing streak for five years,” Lily said curtly, “don't count your gryphons before they hatch.”

 

“That's why we've been practicing haven't we Harry?” James said, “Slytherin won't know what hit it.”

 

“Can't wait to see the look on Snivellus' face,” Sirius said cheerfully.

 

“That's Professor Snape,” Lily said, “don't give Harry the wrong idea before he even has his first class, I was quite good at potions he may be a natural. Then what would we do if he accidentally used an old school name to address him?”

 

James laughed, “can you imagine it Sirius? I would love to see his face when an eleven year old calls him that!”

 

Harry looked between the three of them. This was a conversation that was very much beyond him at the moment.

 

“I think,” he said quietly, gathering up courage, “I'd want to be in Ravenclaw.”

 

They quieted down and James looked surprised.

 

“Really?” James said, “why'd you want to be sorted there?”

 

“I like reading,” Harry said, a bit dismal, “by myself. A lot. So um, they wouldn't make fun of me for it.”

 

“Who gave you the idea that Gryffindors would make fun of you for reading?” Sirius asked, genuinely perplexed.

 

Harry knew what he could and couldn't say in front of his parents and he had almost let it slip out how much he disliked Neville, who Ron often said was sure would end up in Gryffindor with him. Wherever they were he didn't want to be, that was all he knew with certainty.

 

“It's all right Harry,” Lily said more confidently, “whichever house your sorted into should be the one that makes you the most happy.”

 

“That puts Slytherin out of the running then,” Sirius said.

 

Remus glanced between Harry, James and Sirius and sighed a bit.

 

“Ravenclaw's a great house,” he said, as he smiled confidently at Harry, “there's a very strong chance you'll end up there.”

 

It was almost enough encouragement to clear up the sinking feeling Harry was beginning to notice in his stomach when he thought about getting on the train to Hogwarts by himself.

 


	6. Diagon Alley

**Daigon Alley**

 

 

“Doing all right, Harry?” Remus asked.

 

“Fine, thanks,” Harry replied, grinning.

 

They were both carrying numerous bags and boxes from various wizarding stores. Sirius, Harry's father and his mother had stopped at Gringott's to take care of a lengthy transaction in Sirius' name. Harry wasn't entirely sure what it was about, only that it had something to do with an obscure inheritance that Sirius was having difficulty procuring. Remus was then left to take Harry to the potion's shop before lunch, which was quite fine by Harry, as it made him feel immeasurably grown up when Remus allowed him to select his school supplies by his lonesome, instead of his mother doing it all for him.

 

“Let me take the rest,” Remus said, “Do you have your list?”

 

Harry handed his bags over, and practically skipped into Slugs and Jiggers apothecary. His excitement was slightly dampened when the awful smells assaulted his nose, like rotten cabbage with notes of spoiled eggs, old cheese, and mildew. But Harry was not so easily deterred, he had business here, and took out his list efficiently scanning the store for his goods. Most of the first year items were on lower shelves, in bins with small scoops. He'd begun to fill the bags, noticing the coming and goings of other students with their parents also gathering their items. Remus it seemed, was having a discussion with the proprietor, which left Harry to his own digging and wandering. The beetle eyes caught his attention, but unfortunately they weren't on his list. He couldn't resist however, scooping them up and watching the tiny black eyes shine in the dim light, falling back into the barrel.

 

Harry felt a prickle on the back of his neck, and paused his scooping to look up. There in the back row, behind huge barrels and giant jars of eyeballs and lizard tongues, was a very tall, dour man. He was lanky, wore all black, and sported an unpleasant scowl that appeared behind long, greasy black hair. Harry darted his head back down to the beetle eyes, pouring them again a few more times before going onto something else. But every time he looked up, the gloomy man was glaring poisonously at him, as though Harry had done something excruciating to offend him.

 

A sense of paranoia began to creep into Harry's mind, he was after all, the son of a very important Auror. Perhaps the dour man was some sort of evil wizard come for revenge and was waiting for the chance to strike.

 

“All right?” Remus voice made Harry jump.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I have everything but the scales.”

 

“I've already bought them for you, from the counter,” Remus said.

 

Harry turned to the spot where the man had been standing, the bell above the door jangled. A black clad figure slipped out onto the noisy city street, without a backwards glance.

 

“There was a man standing there, staring,” Harry said.

 

Remus brow furrowed in concern, “Is that right?”

 

“He was dressed in all black and had a hook nose. He didn't seem very happy,” Harry said.

 

“Ah,” Remus said, with a knowing smile, “That was probably Severus Snape. He's a professor at Hogwarts, he teaches potions.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “I don't think he likes me very much.”

 

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Remus said, “You'll only have him for a single class. And he'll be very strict, but he is quite an excellent potion's master.”

 

It had seemed to him at the time that the way Remus spoke about the mysterious teacher insinuated that there was something more to the story. Harry forgot all about it, until they had met again with his parents and Sirius at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch.

 

“Did you get everything Harry?” his Mum asked him.

 

“Yes,” Harry said, “all the things on the first years list. Will potions be fun? I don't know how I feel about using parts of things all the time. Beetles died for those beetle eyes!”

 

Lily looked as though she was trying not to laugh so she wouldn't offend Harry.

 

“You'll have to be extra careful when you make potions then,” she said, “to be sure not to waste their bits.”

 

“Their noble sacrifice!” Harry corrected, “Did you know beetles were on everything in ancient Egypt? They were treated like gods!”

 

“Those are dung beetles Harry,” Sirius said cheerfully, gripping his shoulder.

 

“I know that,” mumbled Harry.

 

He hadn't spent his summer in vain, he had been reading everything on every magical and non-magical creature he could find so he would be ready for Hogwarts.

 

“How did it go after we left?” Lily asked.

 

“They're fighting all the way,” Sirius said bitterly, “tooth and nail for a shack that's breaking down as we speak into a barely liveable heap. James is still trying, bless him. But until a hearing is set, I think we've lost this one for now.”

 

“It's only because you want it that they'll have anything to do with it,” Remus said mildly.

 

“Blacks don't give up without a fight,” Sirius said in a sinister tone, “neither do I. The whole lot of them can get sunk!”

 

Sirius slammed his fist on the table and made Harry jump.

 

 _You're a Black too_ , Harry wanted to say but he knew that was unwise when Sirius got himself in a mood.

 

The butterbeers and a lunch in the form of a delicious stew with big hunks of bread arrived. Harry eagerly ate what he could manage, his appetite had returned as his excitement had waned and the stew smelled delicious. His Dad finally arrived looking quite formal in his wizarding robes. He didn't wear them terribly often as they had been living in muggle neighborhoods for quite some time but as he'd had to present evidence to gain the house Sirius was fighting for he had to look his best.

 

“Everyone's started lunch without me,” James said, “for shame. No luck Sirius but they won't be doing a thing with it until another hearing.”

 

James sat down across from Harry as Lily had taken up the other side and Remus on the table end. Sirius was by James as was usual, looking a bit gloomy.

 

“I can't fathom what we should be doing,” Sirius said.

 

“Keeping them from getting it outright at the moment,” James said, tucking into his food, “Narcissa Malfoy is putting up a fight that would surprise a hippogriff.”

 

“Which class are you looking forward to the most Harry,” Remus asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “magical creatures is obvious so the second one is potions. But I don't think the professor will like me very much.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Lily asked him.

 

“We think Severus was in Slug and Jiggers,” Remus said, “he may have recognized Harry.”

 

“He didn't look very happy about the way I was playing in the beetle eyes,” Harry admitted.

 

“He doesn't even know you yet so I wouldn't worry,” Lily said.

 

“Oh please, Lils,” Sirius said, clinking his butterbeer glass on the table, “Snivellus will have it out for Harry as soon as he sees the name 'Potter' on the roll call. If he doesn't already from appearance alone.”

 

“We're still friends,” Lily said sharply, “so any bad memories from school will hopefully be mollified unless you have something particular in mind before school starts.”

 

“Got a lot of things in mind for him,” Sirius said darkly, “but I'll be good for Harry's sake, I promise.”

 

James laughed, “if he does anything at all Harry you let me know and I'll have a word.”

 

“No you will not,” Lily said, “I know what that means. A hex in a letter or something humiliating at the teacher's table. We can put our grudges aside peacefully, James, for Harry's sake.”

 

At this point Harry was starting to get worried but Remus had told him he would only have Professor Snape for a single class and his Mum had mentioned they were friends. He clung to that thought tightly. He wasn't the best at making friends, he'd need anyone on his side he could get at Hogwarts, mean and hook nosed or otherwise.

 

“Besides Snape won't beat the team this year,” James said confidently.

 

“Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor,” Remus chided him, “any one of those would be fine, wouldn't they James.”

 

James sighed heavily, “yes, yes. Of course. Not Slytherin is the important bit.”

 

Harry giggled a bit behind his soup. He was certain he'd be in Ravenclaw, he hoped Neville would be sorted into Hufflepuff just so he could see the look on Ron's face, he'd surely end up in Gryffindor like the rest of the Weasleys.

 

“Arthur!”James cried excitedly, “Over here!”

 

Harry resisted the urge to hide under the table. Only Mr. Weasley was headed this way though Harry was mercifully spared Ron's company as he was probably with his mother getting school things for his first year, unfortunately the rest of his siblings were never far behind.

 

“Is it getting any easier,” James said, “every time they run off to Hogwarts and leave us poor lads behind?”

 

Arthur laughed, “No, but it was a bit of a relief when Fred and George found other people besides their siblings to test their pranks on.”

 

“Smart boys,” James said, “how is the-”

 

“Good,” Arthur said, “you really didn't have to, you know.”

 

“It's only fair,” James said, “you really got us out of a pickle last time we were out with that flying car of yours and I know Molly hates the thing. I thought getting Ron some things of his own would make everyone feel better about him going off to Hogwarts with Neville and his new everything.”

 

“It's far too much,” Arthur said, obviously moved, “but thank-you.”

 

“Anything at all for you,”James said, clapping Arthur heartily on the back.

 

“Remus!” Arthur said cheerily, “I haven't seen you in Daigon Alley in an age. How are things?”

 

The chatter became lively and Harry was just glad he could quietly slide one of his school books out of his bag and read while the adults were talking. (The bag of tiny chocolate skulls Sirius bought Harry from his last trip to Honeydukes also helped). Eventually the conversation headed outside when all the butterbeers had been drunk and the food devoured and Harry found himself in the middle of a red headed sea. He quickly told his Mum he wanted to stop in the book shop nearby and she allowed it.

 

“Only ten minutes Harry,” his Mum said.

 

Harry fortunately knew Mrs. Weasley had quite a lot of air in her and could go on for much longer than that so he agreed easily and slipped into the shop.

 

Harry ended up at the back pawing through books. He wanted the new edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ but unfortunately it had been released long after his birthday. He heard some other children and their parents come into the shop and Harry held his book higher hoping quietly they wouldn't notice him.

 

“What are you hiding from?” he heard a haughty voice ask.

 

Harry jumped, “S-sorry,” he mumbled.

 

The skinny blonde boy eyed him. He wore very nice robes and casually leaned against the over laden bookcase. Harry suddenly felt awkward in his muted robes that he wore for shopping.

 

“Not afraid of him too are you?” the boy asked with a smirk.

 

“Who?” Harry said hesitantly.

 

“You-Know-Who,” he said brightly.

 

Harry shook his head, “Oh… um Not really,” he said distractedly, trying to discern if his Mum was in the shop yet.

 

“I have that book at home,” he continued totally unconcerned by Harry’s reticence, “I bought the special edition of course, with the extra flying posters in the back. But mother won't allow me to have them in my room, it would clash with the French trim.”

 

“Really?” said Harry, already bored with the route the conversation was going.

 

“Of course,” he said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world, “my father is going to buy me a broom today.”

 

“I have one too,” Harry said.

 

“Do you now,” the boy said, he sounded a little annoyed, “which model?”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “it's nothing impressive. Just an old firebolt for practice, in case I plant it into the ground. Done that twice already.”

 

The boy seemed mollified by this information. It wasn't difficult to tell he needed constant deference to become pleased and virtually dripped arrogance. It reminded him of his Uncle Sirius when he was being awfully posh, as his Mum put it. Harry just wanted the boy to go away and leave him to his books.

 

“I suppose you already know which house you're going to be sorted in,” the boy said.

 

“Not Gryffindor,” Harry said, “I hope. Otherwise, not really.”

 

The boy scoffed, “Gryffindor is the worst house in Hogwarts. Besides Hufflepuff. My whole family's been sorted the same way for centuries. I'm not worried at all.”

 

Harry had long thought that voicing a fear was as good as admitting it, the boy looked a little nervous despite his proclamation.

 

The boy held out his hand in what Harry considered an odd gesture of formality, “I’m Draco Malfoy. You are?”

 

Harry eyed the hand for a minute and then shook it quickly and tentatively, “Harry Potter” he said quietly.

 

“Really?” said Draco looking surprised, “interesting. You’re not like your Dad at all. They work together at the ministry you know.” Draco nodded towards a tall blonde man who Harry presumed was his father at the front of the shop. He seemed to be talking to Arthur and his Dad. It didn't look like a friendly confrontation.

 

“What do you think of the Weasleys?” the blonde boy said suddenly.

 

“Not much,” said Harry trying to bury himself in his book.

 

Harry recalled the name Narcissa Malfoy and Sirius' complaints about his trial. It was likely they were at the very least, somewhat related which might cause problems.

 

Draco seemed cheery despite Harry's attempts to hide, “and the Boy Who Lived?”

 

Harry slammed his book shut. That was a tender subject he had a lot more to say about than some mean spirited Weasleys.

 

“Neville's horrible,” Harry said, “Dad would bring him around and I'd have to sit there and listen to him go on about how scared he was all the time of everything.”

 

Draco perked up at this confession and smirked.

 

“He's a coward?” he said.

 

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, “scared to death of literally everything. Dogs, spiders, the dark, a spot of shade, a puffskein if it made a funny noise, I could go on and on! I don't know how he could have killed You Know Who if he can barely make it across a lawn without whinging about something. It's rubbish how everyone goes on and on about him like he's some big hero.”

 

The shop bell rang and Harry could see Draco's father leaving.

 

“That was very informative,” Draco said smirking,“see you at school, Potter.”

 

Finally, the boy left leaving Harry to his books. Only a scant few minutes later his mother came upon him.

 

“It's time Harry,” Lily said, as she looked at him nervously, “off to Ollivander's for your wand.”

 

It was something Harry was terribly excited about but secretly dreading in the same breath, he was certain his Mum would begin to cry. His father had warned him, said it was part of growing up and of course his Mum would be sad that her little boy was almost a real, grown up wizard. Harry wasn't sure what he'd do if he made his Mum cry but it probably wouldn't be pretty.

 

He took a deep breath and followed his Mum out of the comforting bookshop out into the loud streets. He smiled at her hesitantly and grabbed her hand. She looked down at him with a watery smile, her eyes already tearing up.

 

“You don't have to,” she said, “hold my hand all the time.”

 

“Rubbish,” Harry said, “I'll always want to hold onto my Mum's hand.”

 

This was apparently just the right thing to say because his Mum's shoulders seem to relax and she looked less likely to burst into tears at any moment. It was a disaster averted as far as Harry was concerned and he felt more relaxed.

 

Harry's father was waiting for them and Sirius and even Remus. Harry wondered if the five of them would really fit in Ollivander's shop, he remembered it being cramped and dusty. But miraculously, they all did though Sirius rubbed shoulders with James as they crowded around the desk.

 

“Why, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said.

 

Both Harry and his Dad looked at him surprised.

 

“The younger,” Ollivander smiled at Harry, “I've seen the older just recently. Spitting image of your Dad, Harry.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry said, flattening his hair self consciously.

 

“We're here for Harry's wand,” Lily said, her voice only wavered a little, “it's time for him to go to Hogwarts.”

 

“So it would be,” Ollivander said with a mysterious smile, “the wand chooses the wizard and I have no doubt you'll be a difficult choice, as much as your father was back when he came here.”

 

“Was I difficult?” James said.

 

“Oh yes,” Ollivander said, “and you sent half the wands off their shelves with a rather exuberant swish.”

 

James laughed, “Oh, I do remember that now! Mum was so embarrassed, Dad was roaring!”

 

“So they were,” Ollivander said, kindly, “your father was a great patron of this shop. Loved to collect as I'm sure your vault attests.”

 

“I'm glad we gave back what we could,” James said, “before Harry went to Hogwarts. Who knows how many children in his year will have wands from that old vault?”

 

“I have it on good authority that only those who truly deserve a Potter wand will get one,” Ollivander said.

 

James laughed, “quoting my Dad now, are you? Well, go on Harry try the first one out. We'll see what new wand ends up in Potter hands this time.”

 

Ollivander set a plain brown box in front of Harry. Everyone held their breath. Harry picked up a wand and tried it. Nothing happened. Harry felt a stab of disappointment.

 

“It's as important to get through the ones that won't work as the ones that will,” Ollivander said, “we'll go the opposite route then.”

 

Wand after wand was placed on front of Harry and it seemed as though he had gone through a tower of boxes before anything happened at all.

 

“Ah ha!” Ollivander said, as a jelly like substance floated from Harry's wand when he tried it, “we're on the right track! Yew it is, then. Now we can narrow it down.”

 

“Yew?” Sirius stage whispered to Remus, who promptly shushed him.

 

The second stack grew almost as big as the first and boxes began teetering. Ollivander was stumped it seemed, which made Harry a bit uneasy. What would someone do if they couldn't get a wand?

 

“What in the world could be causin-” Ollivander's eyes lit up, “ah, Mr. Potter those wands that have been in your family for years. I believe your son will now benefit. These are special, historical! No one makes them like this anymore.”

 

Harry went through two more boxes with unenthusiastic results until finally a rather scorched looking wooden box was placed in front of him.

 

“What,” Harry said scrunching up his face, “is that?”

 

“I was about to ask the same question,” Sirius muttered in a dismayed tone.

 

Lily gave Sirius a look that quieted his consternation.

 

“A very old wand box,” Ollivander replied with a grin, “nearly ancient.”

 

The top of the box was lifted with some flourish and inside was a wand unlike anything Harry had ever seen. It was the general shape of any normal wand but it looked like it had been burnt to a crisp. It was blackened all around and only white near the thick end. It wasn't a very nice looking wand, in fact, Harry fancied it looked kind of evil and...knobbly.

 

“Go on,” Ollivander said, “pick it up. Try it out.”

 

Harry picked up the wand, though it looked fragile and ready to crumble at the slightest touch, he was surprised how strong it was.

 

“Yew wood,” Ollivander said, “rose hewn, they used to do these on a spindle like yarn. All through the inside there are rose vines and an Augurey feather core. If this doesn't work for you Harry, nothing will.”

 

Harry swallowed thickly, it was quite an attestation to make.

 

He flicked it and the requisite sparks jumped from the end.

 

“Oh Harry!” his Mum said excitedly.

 

“That's the one then,” James said, “maybe it was waiting for you in the vault all this time, if Mum and Dad were still around they'd be so happy it came back into the family.”

 

This time Harry's Dad took on the far away wispy, watery eyed look.

 

“What's yew?” Harry asked, “is that the tree to do with, um, death?”

 

“Oh yes,” Ollivander said.

 

Harry didn't feel quite so confident with his new wand anymore.

 

None the less, Lily was handing over some galleons for it.

 

“Oh Mrs. Potter,” Ollivander said, “it's no more than any other wand.”

 

“Um no,” Lily said, “it's for two, for -”

 

She whispered softly, “ _Ronald Weasley._ When he comes. Don't say anything, he's a bit- well, you know Molly and Arthur and how hard they work to keep up their family. I thought a boy with so many siblings deserved something of his own this time. What with Neville getting everything new and...”

 

Ollivander waved his hand, “I understand completely. Mums the word, he'll have his pick like any other boy.”

 

Harry wondered what his mother was doing buying Ronald a wand but he held his tongue just barely, going a bit pink in the face. _Ronald Weasley_. Really.

 

After the wands were settled Harry was ushered outdoors by his Mum, with his father, Sirius and Remus following.

 

“That's quite the wand,” Sirius said, “I wouldn't have known it was a real one until you picked it up.”

 

“Sirius!” Lily said, “it's a family wand.”

 

“But it's odd, isn't it?” Sirius said, “the thing looks awfully evil and...knobbly.”

 

It was one thing to think it but another to hear it out loud.

 

“It's ok,” Harry said, “it's really old and strange so maybe it'll impress the other Ravenclaws.”

 

Harry stumbled and realized what he just said.

 

“Ravenclaws?” Sirius said, loudly, “did you hear that James?”

“I heard,” James said, amused, “I don't know Harry, Potters have been Gryffindors for centuries. That's a lot of time that says your house colours are going to be red for the next seven years.”

 

“You can be in whatever house you want to be in,” Lily said, “I have it on good authority that if I hadn't made a suggestion during the sorting, I might have been in Slytherin.”

 

“What?!” James and Sirius said at the same time, while Harry said “you can _do_ that?”

 

“I knew that,” Remus said, “I've known that for years. Lily told me while were in school. Actually I'm fairly certain she said it to all of use at the same time.”

 

“Yes,” Lily said, “But some of us have selective hearing!”

 

Far away from the din outside in the back room of Ollivander's shop, Mr. Ollivander was putting away the stacks and stacks of wands Harry Potter had gone through onto their shelves. A cold blast of hair hit the nape of his neck and he shivered.

 

“I've done as you've told me,” the usually mild Ollivander snapped, “I tried my best to get him to pick something else but your will has won out. Begone specter! Leave my shop before I get out my wand and teach your ghostly presence some nasty new tricks!”

 

In the back of the shop a dim, white figure narrowed its eyes at the shop owner. It receded into a shadowy corner and disappeared. Ollivander let out a relieved breath, just as the door opened and admitted a customer he had been expecting for some time.

 

“Mr. Longbottom!” Ollivander said excitedly, “And of course, Mr. Weasley.”

 

“Hullo Mr. Ollivander,” Neville said timidly, “I'm here with Gran to buy a wand.”

 

“Of course you are,” Ollivander said, “And how are you Augusta? Still set on that duel with Mr. Tabbitha next month?”

 

She was wearing her usual green robe and witch's hat, the dead bird on top lazily eying the boxes on the shelves.

 

“And not rain or tempest will stop me,” she said, coolly, “our boys here want wands for Hogwarts. Mr. Weasley, what did your dear mother give you for supplies?”

 

“Well,” Ronald faltered, “um, er-”

 

“Mr. Weasley,” Ollivander said, “there comes a time when one should ask about the price and when one shouldn't.”

 

Ollivander winked at him.

 

“Now's the time to take generosity from a mysterious benefactor who's name shall go unmentioned at their request.”

 

Ronald simply stood shocked, mouth agape for a whole two minutes until Neville took it upon himself to step up to the counter.

 

“I guess I'll go first,” he said glumly.

 

It went much smoother than Harry Potter's selections but it wasn't any surprise to Mr. Ollivander, but it may have been a great one to Neville.

 

“Were all those boxes supposed to fly off the shelf?” Neville asked nervously.

 

“Oh Neville,” Augusta sighed, “really.”

 

Ronald Weasley was still in shock from having his wand magically paid for when he hadn't even been thinking about getting a new one. The boxes that had whizzed passed him barely took his notice.

 

“A new wand!” Ron had whispered to himself, excitedly.

 

When Neville's wand ended up being the companion to _that one_ , Ollivander now had absolute proof that it would be a very interesting year indeed.

 

And quite possibly, an extremely dangerous one for poor Neville and his friend.

 

 


	7. S is for Suspicion

**S Is For Suspicion**

 

After running through the platform 9 3/4 just as his Mum had instructed, Harry had stopped dead in his tracks and simply stared at all the comings and goings. He had never seen so many wizards and witches and their children all in one place before, the cacophony was deafening and the train gorgeous and sleek on the tracks ready to take them to Hogwarts. Harry had never been to Hogwarts before, not since he was a baby but he didn't remember anything about that just what his parents had told him. He knew the headmaster was Dumbledore, the wizened old wizard on the chocolate frog cards and a personal friend of his family. He perhaps knew more about the Hogwarts of twenty years ago when his parents had been children than anything about the school in its current incarnation.

 

“Watch out!”

 

Harry deftly moved to the side as Neville's trolly came crashing through, without said boy pushing it. As the trolley slowed to a stop, Neville finally caught up and grabbed it before it could start another journey into the crowds on the slightly sloped platform.

 

'Where's Trevor?” Neville panted, as his eyes darted everywhere.

 

Harry sighed, without him Neville really would be helpless.

 

“In my pocket,” Harry said, and removed a box from his robes.

 

“Oh thank-you,” Neville said, joyously.

 

“Neville!” His gran shouted, as she smoothly entered the platform, “What are you doing boy?” 

 

Of course, Ronald Weasley was going with his own family to the platform which meant Neville was left with his Gran and Harry's family. Neville's Gran was a stately old witch who was clever and keen enough to look down her nose at Harry every chance she got, clearly reading the dislike for her grandson. Harry had kept his attitude well under wraps when she was around to notice him, whatever his personal opinions on Neville's foolish escapades had been. He mostly liked Neville's Gran because she often became cross when Neville hadn't accomplished much – which was quite often and Harry liked to quietly gloat when Neville's Gran would heave a great sigh and say something like, “why can't you be more like the Potter boy Neville? You spend enough time together for a bit to rub off, surely”.

 

“I lost my toad,” Neville admitted sheepishly.

 

“You're lucky you haven't lost your head,” Mrs. Longbottom said, “fortunately for us it's still attached to your shoulders!”

 

Neville was truly awful about everything, losing his toad, his robe, his wand, anything at every opportunity. While Ron loved to go on and on about how Neville was The Boy Who Lived and therefore The Best Friend There Ever Was, Neville was to put it bluntly not a very good wizard. It was verging on the ridiculous, Harry had no idea how Neville would ever survive Hogwarts. Harry's own Dad had to help Neville out of various scrapes whenever he came over for flying tutoring, which was a bit too often in Harry's opinion. Perhaps Harry would have felt worse for Neville if he hadn't been so keen to tease him in front of Ron. 

 

“How many times have you lost your toad?” Neville's Gran demanded. 

 

“Erm,” Neville began.

 

“Don't worry about it Mrs. Longbottom,” Harry said politely, “Ron and I caught Trevor the fifth time.”

 

Neville's Gran rounded in on Neville with a frustrated expression and Harry slipped away to catch up with his parents trying not to snicker too loudly.

 

“Where'd you get off to?” Sirius said, appearing out of thin air. 

 

“Helping Neville find his toad,” Harry said.

 

“I saw you slipping it into your robe,” he said, giving him an odd look, “were you waiting for his Gran before giving it to him?”

 

“Oh,” Harry stumbled, “not really, I-”

 

“Next time slip it to him quietly,” Sirius said, “his Gran is a bit hard on him. I think it's part of what makes him soft in the head. Poor lad's only got us to look out for him, isn't that right Harry?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, guiltily.

 

He hadn't felt guilty at all doing it and he certainly wasn't going to start now. But Sirius was very quick to catch onto Harry's little escapades, he supposed because Sirius and his Dad had done enough nefarious deeds of their own to fill several volumes the size of _Hogwarts: A History_. It made pulling one over Ron or Neville very difficult around their company.

 

“Harry!” his Mum had arrived, latching onto his hand like it was a lifeline, “are we ready?”

 

“He's the one going to Hogwarts,” Sirius said, cheekily, “not you.”

 

“I know that,” Lily said and sniffed, “are you ready?”

 

“I think so,” Harry said tentatively.

 

“You'll be all right,” his Mum said, though it seemed more for her benefit than his as her eyes had grown rather moist.

 

Harry knew he'd be all right, it was Hogwarts. He was much more worried about where he'd end up, he was desperate for Ravenclaw at this point and very much wished he could ask one of the older boys with the blue scarves around their necks how they had managed it. He wouldn't make it through the year with Ron and Neville always bumbling into him that much he knew.

 

_Ask me if I'm all right after the sorting_ , was what he wanted to say.

 

“It's a very important day,” James said, his voice cracking slightly, “and we want you to be comfortable.”

 

Looking up at Uncle Remus, Uncle Sirius, his Mum and his Dad and keenly feeling Uncle Peter's absence, Harry supposed he was as comfortable as expected.

 

“I'm nervous about the sorting,” Harry blurted, “but I'm all right besides that.”

 

“Nothing to be nervous about,” James said, giving Harry's head a pat, “I promise you that. They do know what they're doing at Hogwarts and you'll have every chance to make it into whichever house you please.”

 

Harry had assumed the lengthy, animated conversations in the kitchen at night between his Mum and Dad had been on that particular subject. He recalled Mum calling his Dad 'house blind', Harry didn't exactly know what that meant but he could guess.

 

“If I get into Gryffindor,” Harry said, “I promise I'll win all the quidditch games I can.”

 

“That's the spirit!” Sirius said, clapping him on the arm, “we've doddled enough, go on and get on the train. Eat all the pasties you can get your hands on!”

 

Remus gave Harry a hug and leaned in close to say, “try not to follow Sirius' advice to the letter, he was sick on the train twice due to over indulgence.”

 

Harry giggled and then felt an awful sense of loss. He was going away from all these people to a place he'd never been before and full of people he'd never met. Harry faced his family, his Dad who looked like he was going to cry and his Mum who had gathered her resolve and was now the most together of the bunch. Remus offering him a crooked smile and Sirius who looked supremely excited probably because he couldn't wait to hear what house he'd gotten himself sorted into. Harry managed to put himself together, just.

 

“I'm ready,” Harry said.

 

He really wasn't, he reflected later after boarding the Hogwarts Express. The noise was deafening on the train, there were children everywhere and prefects and people he'd never seen before. A boy had even brought a pet spider in a box and some children had crowded around it to see. Harry would have an animal his second year, as Uncle Peter had been hatching something special for him that wouldn't be ready until then. He felt a little bereft with all the children and their animals but had been assured by Uncle Peter that it was worth the wait.

 

After fighting through boys and girls much bigger than him, Harry found an empty compartment and nearly sighed with relief. He stuffed his smaller trunk on the appropriate shelf and settled in; hoping no one else would come in and disturb his reading.

 

It was inevitable then, that the door to his compartment would have flung open a few minutes later. Harry attempted to hide behind his book but curiosity compelled him to see who the new interlopers were and he peeked over the high edge.

 

“Hello,” the bushy haired girl said.

 

With his book lowered slightly, Harry managed a rather wispy smile.

 

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she said with a toothy grin.

 

“Hullo, I’m Harry Potter,” he said nervously.

 

She sat across from him. The door opened again and a brown haired bespectacled boy poked his head in.

 

“Seats taken?” he asked.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione said looking at Harry.

 

Harry sunk deeper into the seat and held his book significantly higher over his face.

 

“Right then. I’ll sit in here with you,” he said, oblivious, “I’m Terry Boot by the way.”

 

They shook hands politely while Harry studiously ignored them.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Hermione said, “are you from a magical family?”

 

Terry barely got out a “yes” before she began speaking.

 

“I'm not and I was ever so surprised when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased of course, it's the best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learnt all our set books off by heart, of course and I just hope it will be enough,” she said, in a rush.

 

Harry dropped the book to his lap, “I doubt we'll have to remember all our books straight off, Hermione.”

 

“Oh, the book has a face!” Terry said, trying to be cheeky.

 

Harry gave Terry an annoyed look and then returned to his reading.

 

“Is that a book for first years,” Hermione said, breathily, “I didn't buy that one, oh dear!”

 

“It isn't,” Harry said slowly, as though speaking to someone much younger than him, “this itself, is a book about the historical significance of breeding magical creatures and why the ban on it is rubbish.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, visibly relieved despite his tone.

 

Then she began to look cross.

 

“You're not one of those wizards who think awful of muggle-born families are you?” Hermione said.

 

“My Mum's a muggle-born,” Harry said flatly.

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, “sorry.”

 

“Guess he's a misanthrope instead,” Terry said quietly.

 

Hermione tried not to smile as Harry scowled.

 

“That's not very nice,” she said but Harry could see she had wanted to laugh at him.

 

Just then their car door opened and Neville popped his head in.

 

“Erm,” Neville said, “have any of you seen my toad? Oh, hullo Harry.”

 

“Budge off!” Harry snarled, throwing his book at him.

 

Hermione and Terry were startled by Harry's sudden irritation with the boy who had appeared at their car door. Harry's book missed Neville who had moved a little to the left and slammed into the wall, dropping to the floor with a hard thud.

 

“Sorry about him, Harry hates leaving home,” Neville said, “Well if any of you see Trevor - especially you, Harry because he actually likes you for some reason, can you give him back?”

 

Harry flushed from anger and embarrassment. As if Neville would have been able to get on the train alone, without Ron!

 

“If I see Trevor I'll let him loose at the first pond I come across,” Harry snapped, “where he'll be much happier than being accidentally hexed, jinxed and tormented by Ron's brothers!”

 

“Right,” Neville said timidly, “well-”

 

Unfortunately for Neville his fringe fell to the side and Terry had noticed.

 

“You're the Boy Who Lived,” Terry said, “you've got the scar!”

 

Neville turned beat red and quickly tugged down his bangs as he backed out of their car.

 

“Yes!” his voice cracked, “I mean, no! I don't know!”

 

He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get away so fast. The car door slammed shut and Harry picked up his book again straightening out the pages he had wrinkled flinging it so hard against the door. If only Harry could make Neville go away that quickly all the time, he thought ruefully.

 

“A bit shy,” Terry said mournfully, “I'll remember that next time.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, “I know who that is I read about him in _Modern Magical History_ , _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century!_ ”

 

“You've really done your reading,” Terry said, impressed.

 

Hermione practically preened, giggling a bit and Harry felt ill from the sight.

 

“It's not hard to read a book,” Harry said.

 

He felt put out already, of course he hadn't read any of those books. Why would he? His Mum and Dad had already told him all about the wizarding world, the parts he hadn't experienced himself and he'd had to put up with Neville all the time. He wasn't anything special and neither were the little girl and boy in front of him. Perfectly ordinary wizards, though the way they were getting along already made Harry feel much as he had around Ron and Neville. Like his presence was tolerated, but just.

 

“Yes,” Terry said, “but a lot of books is actually something special. I bet we'll all get into Ravenclaw the moment we're sorted.”

 

That was actually something Harry thought was worth hearing about.

 

“Do you think so?” Harry said, excitedly.

 

Hermione looked suspicious at his sudden change in mood.

 

“They say the sorting process let's you choose, to a certain extent, sort of. Maybe sometimes. It's all very secretive,” Terry said, “but that's what I've heard.”

 

“I hope so,” Harry said, “My Dad would love it if I was in Gryffindor but I really, really don't want to be.”

 

“Why's that?” Hermione said.

 

Harry shrugged, “just don't want to be.”

 

It wasn't as if he was going to tell two perfect strangers his whole life story, or any of the humiliating things that had happened between Ron, Neville and him. Hogwarts was a whole school filled with new people. He was sure he'd find someone there he could be friends with, it would be a bit tragic if he couldn't even manage that. Behind his book his eyes were pricking with tears he was just barely keeping back, he wasn't sure about Hogwarts anymore. He wasn't sure about anything. Deep down he wanted to turn around and go home.

 

“I heard Gryffindor's the best house,” she said, “Dumbledore was in Gryffindor himself.”

 

“There are lots of great houses,” Harry mumbled, “except maybe Slytherin.”

 

“Slytherin is a bit gloomy,” Terry said, “I had a cousin in Slytherin, he liked it fine but he said it was easy to get in with the wrong sort.”

 

“What kind exactly are the wrong sort?” Hermione said with an emphasis that was lost on Harry.

 

“Oh, um,” Terry stumbled, “junior death eaters, and things.”

 

“The Death Eaters,” Hermione said, “were disbanded after the death of You-Know-Who. There aren't any death eaters living in England officially, who still have their freedom.”

 

“Doesn't mean his supporters aren't still around,” Terry said, “lurking in Slytherin, waiting for the right moment.”

 

“My family's mostly aurors,” Harry said, “it's true, you know. They're still out there. Imagine if your parents were in Azkaban or worse – well, I'd want revenge wouldn't you?”

 

Harry watched Hermione turn pale with some relish, she was annoying and a bit of a swot but it might be fun to see if she was as scared of everything as Neville was.

 

“Don't look so pleased,” she hissed at Harry, “imagine if you ended up in Slytherin, what would you do then? Your father is an auror, a very famous one. I heard that boy Neville talking while we were getting on the train.”

 

“So Harry,” Terry said, “what would you do if you-”

 

“If I did end up in Slytherin house, I'd toss myself off the astronomy tower,” Harry said, flipping a page in his book.

 

“Here, here,” Terry said.

 

“That's a lovely thought,” Hermione said, “at least it's likely we'll all end up in Ravenclaw anyway, that's a relief.”

 

The snack trolly arrived at their cart and Harry had been outfitted with enough coin by his Dad and Mum to feed half the train. Instead he bought sweets enough for the three of them and laid them out on the table that had been set up between them.

 

“Go on then, Hermione,” Harry said, “it's for all of us.”

 

Terry had no problem tucking in but Hermione hesitated.

 

“You seem like the kind of boy who doesn't do things for other people very often,” she said, cautiously, “without wanting something back.”

 

Harry was offended by her assumptions, not to mention he had just begun to like her a little, “we're on the train together, aren't we? And we'll probably be in the same house so budge up and have a pastie if you want to. It's polite to accept gifts given to you, you know.”

 

It was according to his Dad and Sirius anyway, who were often caught spoiling Remus and since Harry didn't have much practical experience with other children yet he went for their example instead.

 

“I think you're used to getting what you want through bribes,” Hermione said primly, “that's all. But thank-you, I've never seen wizarding sweets before, only in _Hogwarts: A History_ and they only talked about chocolate frogs.”

 

She went for a pumpkin pasty in the end, muttering about how it would be good for her to experience the food from 'other cultures' and Harry fought not to roll his eyes at her. Despite her grating personality, she was sort of homely in a way that Harry liked, buck toothed and a bit odd with the frizzy hair and so very muggle. It made Harry feel like the less awkward one, which was always a good thing. Terry by comparison was so very ordinary he mercifully blended into the background. He rescinded his previous assumptions, it wasn't like hanging around Neville and Ron who were both awful and loud all the time- he liked these two. He desperately hoped he'd make it into Ravenclaw with them and not Gryffindor.

 

“Eugh,” Hermione said, as she bit into an Every Flavour Bean, “is that sprouts?”

 

Terry chuckled, “oh good, better that than bogeys.”

 

Harry recaptured his escaping chocolate frog and frowned at the card he'd gotten in its box, another Dumbledore. He only had dozens already. He scrunched up his face at the next one; Salazar Slytherin. The scary looking wizard on the card smirked at him and nodded his approval.

 

“Ugh,” Harry said, but he didn't have that card yet at least and tucked it into his train bag.

 

“Why would anyone bother to make candy in that flavour?” Hermione said, horrified.

 

“They're every flavor beans,” Harry said, “not every delicious flavour beans.”

 

Terry burst out laughing, “there you are, then.”

 

Hermione looked at her remaining beans with intense suspicion and then the two boys.

 

“Wizards might just be mad,” she concluded.

 

The rest of their train ride was uneventful, Harry didn't end up reading the rest of his book and instead found that other children could be tolerable instead of hateful. He learned that Hermione's parents were dentists (surprising, considering the state of her teeth) and that Terry was following Harry's own team the Balleycastle Bats, whom Harry had chosen as his favourite as a child because of the logo. It just so happened that they were quite a bit better than the Magpies as well, whom Terry still defended because he had loved them at five. Hermione found it all very interesting as she'd never even heard of the game quidditch before and both Harry and Terry felt quite proud explaining it to her in lurid detail.

 

Eventually they had to put on their robes and get off the train. They collected around each other as though the three of them could form some kind of shield against the barrage of other children but it seemed first years went in a different direction than the rest. The first years were herded by an enormous man that Harry recognized as Rubeus Hagrid, another distant but recognizable friend of the family.

 

“Is he,” Hermione said hesitantly, “human?”

 

“Oh yes,” Terry said, “but I wouldn't be surprised if there was some giant in him somewhere down the line.”

 

“Giants!” Hermione said, “The wizarding world still has giants?”

 

“And hippogriffs,” Harry said, bemused.

 

They lined up for the boats and Harry stared rapturously at the beautiful lake at night, the lights reflecting a thousand fold in its dark reflection.

 

“This way!” Hagrid boomed, “In ye go, four to a boat!”

 

As the line slowly moved and children began to load themselves into the boats, Harry heard a rather loud splash and a lot of shouting.

 

“Nott!” a first year screamed from the lake, “you little-!”

 

“It's not my fault you fell in,” Nott said, not the least bit sorry.

 

“Oi, that's enough there,” Hagrid said, pulling the sodden boy single-handedly from the water, “who 'ere can cast a drying charm?”

 

“I can,” Hermione said, her hand shooting up, “I think so, anyway.”

 

“If you can't, I can,” Harry said quietly.

 

“Let her try then,” said Hagrid kindly.

 

Hermione cast the drying charm, and though the boy was still slightly damp he thanked her and the three of them got a boat all to themselves. As the boats began to move, Harry got a look at the other little boy who had done the pushing. He was a scrawny, weedy sort with a rabbity face. He glared imperiously at everyone and didn't seem to like much that he was on the water. No one seemed to make eye contact with him and the other children had grouped together on the opposite end of the boat as though they thought he was catching.

 

“You'll be gettin' yer first view of Hogwarts soon!” Hagrid said.

 

Harry's attention was quickly focused on the castle looming up in the fog, it was beautiful and glittering, just as Harry had imagined it all these years. For the next seven years this would be essentially his home and it was an exciting and dreadful prospect all at once.

 

“This is our home now,” Hermione said reverently, “it's beautiful.”

 

“Look at it glow,” Terry said, “it's amazing!”

 

“It's magic,” Harry said, “just like Mum and Dad always said.”

 

They all bent their heads as they floated through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. The tunnel was long and dark and they seemed to be going directly underneath the castle.

 

“I wonder if there are more tunnels under the castle,” he said to Terry.

 

“I could always check _Hogwa_ -” Hermione began.

 

“Um, that's all right,” Harry cut her off, “don't you want to explore after the feast?”

 

“If we all get into Ravenclaw,” Terry said, “we can do it together.”

 

Harry didn't want to think about what would happen if they didn't. When the boats landed they clamoured onto a pebbly harbour, Harry nearly tripped over a toad as he got out of his boat.

 

“Oh no,” he said with a sigh, “I found a toad, Mr. Hagrid!”

 

“Who in the world would still want a toad?” Terry said.

 

“Neville,” Harry said flatly, “I'll be shocked if it's not his.”

 

“It's a funny animal for the Boy Who Lived,” Terry said.

 

“Look,” Harry started, “he's just like any other boy. I don't even like him, I just know him and have to put up with him sometimes.”

 

“You know him?” Terry said, “I mean, I know you knew him because he stopped by but – you're friends with him?”

 

“No!” Harry snapped.

 

“They don't get along,” Hermione said, “you might have noticed, Terry.”

 

Harry handed over the toad to Hagrid who tenderly cradled the rather frazzled looking thing in his giant hands.

 

“Poor little fellow, eh! Who owns this one?” Hagrid boomed.

 

“Trevor!” Neville said rapturously as Hagrid handed him his toad.

 

Harry wondered if he had actually done a good deed returning the toad to its owner, the poor thing would probably do better in the lake free from Neville's incredible ability to forget to feed it.

 

They clambered up a rough passageway following Hagrid's glowing lamp until they finally came out onto smooth grass that lead them to a gigantic castle door.

 

“Everyone here?” Hagrid asked, “all toads and limbs accounted for?”

 

A hesitant giggle trickled through the first-years.

 

“Take that as a yes, then,” he said cheerfully.

 

Hagrid banged on the huge oak door three times and not a moment later a stern looking witch had appeared. Harry recognized her from her father's descriptions, it was Professor McGonagall head of Gryffindor house.

 

“The firs'-years, Professor,” said Hagrid.

 

“Thank-you Hagrid,” she said, “I'll take them from here.”

 

They followed the Professor across the flag stoned floor and as they rounded a hallway Harry could hear a cacophony of voices, Hermione quickly looked at him as if unsure of what to do and he tried to smile back at her, though it may have looked a bit sickly. They ended up in a small stone room that was directly off the hall. Everyone squashed in together from sheer nerves, Harry wrinkled his nose. An odd mouldy book smell assaulted his nose. The rabbity boy was next to him and a large, stocky girl had her hand tightly around his wrist as though he'd dart off at any moment. Neither of them looked particularly friendly. Thankfully, Hermione and Terry had crowded into his right.

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall, “The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall you will sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.”

 

She went on to describe the four houses, which Harry had long known about. The House Cup however, was intriguing. Harry had heard from his parents that it was extremely difficult to procure and lately it had been going to Slytherin much to his Dad and Uncle Sirius' frustrations.

 

“The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

 

Harry felt a bit smug when the Professor's eyes landed on Neville's awkwardly worn cloak that had been fastened under his left ear and on Ron's nose which somehow had ended up with a smudge across it. None the less, Harry awkwardly patted down his hair and he noticed Hermione doing the same. The spotlessly tidy Terry had his arms crossed in front of him and was merely waiting.

 

“How do they sort us into houses?” Hermione asked Harry.

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “I don't actually know. But I heard my Dad mention something about a hat before my Uncles shut him up about it.”

 

“It's a secret,” Terry said firmly, “I hope it's a test.”

 

“It's not a test,” Harry said, “not a literal one.”

 

His mind twisted with all sorts of _maybes_ and _what could bes_. Just then, a terrible shriek sounded in the hall and Harry felt himself jump nearly a foot. Several ghosts had made their way into the the students waiting room and were now having a very avid discussion.

 

“I say,” said a ghost with a ruffle, “what are you all doing here?”

 

“Um,” Harry said timidly, “first-years?”

 

“New students!” the Fat Friar said, smiling at them all cheerfully, “about to be sorted, I suppose?

 

A few children nodded mutely.

 

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar, “my old house, you know!”

 

“Not likely,” Harry heard muttered nearby, probably from the pale haired boy that he had met in the bookshop from the sounds of it.

 

“Move along now,” the Professor said, “the Sorting Ceremony is about to start!”

 

Their Professor had returned, the ghosts floated away one by one into the opposite wall.

 

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first-years, “and follow me.”

 

Relieved, Harry got into line between Hermione and Terry and with a sense of trepidation followed Hermione's bushy hair towards the Great Hall. The hall itself was a wonder, enormous tables and chairs covered the entire stone room. The entire place was lit by thousands of floating candles and the ceiling looked like the night sky. While he had heard some aspects of Hogwarts described, it was even better than he had ever imagined. A bit of magic at home was nothing compared to an entire school steeped in the stuff all the time. At the top of the hall was the teachers table and the students were lined up alongside so they faced the house tables with their backs to the professors. A four legged stool was placed in front of the first-years and Harry was shocked to see a ragged looking hat placed on top of it. He had wondered if the mention of the hat had been misleading but there it was, strange and haggard looking.

 

The hat twitched for a moment, opened it's strange brim mouth and began to sing.

 

Harry could hardly follow the words he was so surprised. But he had caught some of them -

 

_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There’s nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can’t see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

 

Nothing hidden in his head that the hat couldn't see? Harry began to twitch, there were things people ought not to see as far as he was concerned. He paid attention when the song had finally reached Ravenclaw -

 

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you’ve a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind-_

 

There was nothing that concerned specifically what one had to do to be sorted into each house, only what Harry had already known from his parents about what they were about. The whole hall burst into applause at the end of the song and then the silence descended once again and Harry felt all the more nervous. It seemed there was no right or wrong way to get sorted and somehow that made it more frightening than it already was.

 

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

 

'When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said, “Abbot, Hannah!”

 

Harry's heart began to pound loud in his ears. Terry Boot was the fourth first-year called and was quickly sorted into Ravenclaw, Harry cheered along with Terry's housemates hoping for the best. After several boys and girls Harry didn't recognize were sorted, it was finally Hermione's turn. Harry noticed she did seem hesitant to approach the chair with the sorting hat on it but was trying not to be. Harry held his breath along with her as the hat sat on her head for a few, long moments.

 

“RAVENCLAW!!” it shouted, finally.

 

There was a resounding cheer and Hermione looked so proud. Harry beamed at her and clapped along with Terry Boot whom she joined at the Ravenclaw table. Neville was up next and he nearly tripped getting to the sorting hat. The entire hall seemed to quiet down, everyone was curious where The Boy Who Lived would end up but Harry thought that if anywhere he probably belonged in Hufflepuff. The hat was placed on his head and it seemed to take an extraordinarily long time, cycling through many different expressions on its rumpled face, Harry fancied one looked slightly constipated.

 

“GRYFFINDOR!!”

 

Neville looked so pleased, his face alight with happiness. Harry clapped for Neville begrudgingly, though if Neville could make it into Gryffindor considering how cowardly he was Harry was fairly confident he was a shoe in for Ravenclaw. There was only one way to find out and it was rapidly approaching Harry's turn to sit on the stool.

 

“Malfoy, Draco,” professor McGonagall called.

 

The boy Harry had spoken to in the book shop quickly scurried onto the stool. The hat barely touched his head before shouting 'SLYTHERIN!' to the rapturous applause of the Slytherin table. He hopped off the stool and went to sit with his friends. Harry hadn't liked him very much and he had seemed like a slimy sort, it wasn't much of a surprise.

 

“Nott, Theodore” was called next.

 

It was the boy with the funny smelling clothes who had thrown Justin Finch-Fletchley (sorted Hufflepuff, Harry noticed) into the lake, as he walked by Harry nearly fell over from the powerful mouldering smell that wafted from him. It explained why the other students on the boat had kept a wide berth between themselves and the odd boy. Harry could guess where such an unpleasant person would end up and sure enough 'SLYTHERIN!' was called out. Draco Malfoy was at least pleased with this development and Nott hopped down his stool and sat on the other side of his apparently only friend who could stand the odd smell of his clothes.

 

“Potter, Harry” Professor McGonagall said, finally.

 

Harry swallowed thickly. He nervously approached the stool for what seemed like ages until he sat down and the hat was sat on his head. He closed his eyes as a very odd voice spoke into his head.

 

“Oh dear,” the hat said, alarming Harry, “what do we have here? A lot of ambition, great bravery, a desperate need to prove yourself. If I had my way, it would be a clean split between Gryffindor and-”

 

“Please not Gryffindor,” Harry said, he'd never be able to stand it there with Neville, “anywhere but Gryffindor. Well, almost-”

 

Odd laughter filled his head.

 

“Not to worry,” the hat said, “I like giving most a chance to argue their case but our founders were quite specific about the particulars concerning wizards like you. Did you know that the outcome was decided in a duel? Godric almost won but another won out instead. It was quite a shock, you know, Godric was the best dueler there was and he thought there was cheating going on, legend has it there was, but I still think there wasn't. Dare I say it, destiny was decided that day.”

 

“What?” Harry said, utterly confused.

 

“Your destiny! Don't you want to know who's house you're in?” the hat said.

 

“Um, yes,” Harry said, “that was the point I thought, of putting you on my head.”

 

“Ooh, cheeky! I could put you just about anywhere for that remark. But never fear, the decision was made long before we even got here,” the hat said, “but I dare say you would have made a wonderful Gryffindor if I ever met one.”

 

Harry's stomach sank and he was prepared to leap off the stool to join Neville and Ron, at least his Dad would be hap-

 

“SLYTHERIN!”

 

The look on Harry's face was somewhere between absolute shock and abject horror. He was sure everyone had noticed in the Great Hall, as the silence seemed to stretch on indefinitely.

 

“I told you he was a snake,” Harry heard mumbled.

 

He was almost certain that was Ronald Weasley's voice.

 

Not a second later, cheers resounded as they had for everyone else and with a growing sense of dread Harry got off the stool and made his way towards the Slytherin table as if in a dream. He was nearly delirious. He felt light headed and slightly ill. Why in the world had the hat placed him in Slytherin? Should he have memorized his books the way Hermione had, but of course Terry had been sorted into Ravenclaw too and Harry was fairly certain he hadn't done anything of the sort. Had he done something wrong? He sat stiffly at the table next to the very large, stocky girl he had seen earlier who smiled at him hesitantly.

 

“Was it a surprise? First one in the family?” she said, he knew she was only trying to help but it made him feel worse.

 

He managed a nod, none the less.

 

“Don't feel bad,” she said, “only the best sort get into Slytherin. Especially half-bloods.”

 

Harry stared at her, appalled. Slytherin was a deeply biased house, he had almost forgotten that very important fact as he hadn't planned on being sorted into it.

 

“Sorry, I recognized your Dad's name. The famous auror, James Potter. He works with my Mum sometimes,” she said, then after a moment whisper quiet, “I'm a half-blood too you know, don't worry about it. No one actually cares as long as you're clever enough. My name's Millicent Bulstrode but you can call me Millie.”

 

“Hullo,” Harry barely managed before sinking low in his chair, “Millie.”

 

Harry thought he could vaguely smell Theodore Nott's awful book smell from halfway up the table. He hoped he wasn't bunking next to him or he would probably want to incendio his nostrils to get through the next seven years. Harry felt a cold blast of air, all the hair on his neck stood on end and he rubbed the back of his head before turning around and coming face to chest with a Hogwarts ghost.

 

“Mind yourself,” he hoarsely whispered.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said.

 

“That's the Bloody Baron,” Millie said to him, “our Hogwarts house ghost.”

 

Harry blinked at the stern looking ghost covered in blood and wrapped in chains and swallowed thickly. He looked down the long Slytherin table and noted that the rest of his house didn't look very friendly, mostly gloomy faces, sallow skin from being in the dungeons so long he suspected and some of the third years had mean faces.

 

“There are advantages to being in Slytherin,” Millie said, “you'll see.”

 

Harry recalled his father and Uncle Sirius' attestations about Severus Snape and it was with a great amount of trepidation that he looked up towards the teacher's table. Professor Snape, Harry's new head of house was looking at him with what Harry could only call an intense coldness. It did not bode well at all.

 

“Welcome to Slytherin Mr. Potter,” the Bloody Baron rasped.

 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, at least the terrifying house ghost seemed to like him.

 

The feast had appeared and though the food was very delicious Harry found himself eating with difficulty; he wished he had felt an iota of the confidence that Millicent had spoken with as he wasn't entirely sure if he'd make it through the next seven years at all.

 

 


	8. In The Dungeons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a tag called 'mentor Snape'. There is some of that in this story so I have added it. 
> 
> You didn't dream it, I re-posted this chapter. Never insert text while under the influence, I've learned my lesson.

 

**In The Dungeons**

 

 

In a very quiet cul-de-sac in Surrey was a pub owned by an old man known locally as Mr. Carruthers whose father had set up his shop in the 1940's without thinking too deeply about location and its effects on business. For many years the pub barely stayed afloat as it was surrounded by residences who had no desire or interest in heavy lagers and had been built far enough away from the main roads that no one bothered to find it. Mr. Carruthers had lost two wives over the lack of business and one house. He had thought about selling it many times as the land was now worth significantly more than the business itself but he couldn't bear to do it when he thought of all the time his father had spent tending his patrons behind the well worn bar. But suddenly, in a strange turn of events the pub began to fill up every evening with people at half past six without any apparent reason. He wondered if he were adjacent to a recreation centre without knowing it, or one of those eccentric lodges like the Masons because the patrons who purchased his wares seemed to follow a credo that directed them to wear robes instead of trousers. He had heard the word 'auror' once and the phrase 'meeting place' which had made a lot more sense but he couldn't entirely place what was going on with the strange folks who had taken up his offers of thick curry, chips and lager half price after seven. If it hadn't filled his almost empty seats with regular customers Mr. Carruthers may have complained a lot more but everyone was a genteel sort and aside from a few rowdy occurrences and odd bits of missing memory afterwards, there was nothing to complain about after years of his business barely staying in the black. At this rate, he could actually afford to retire in a few years or sell the place to a young investor and live a little in his old age.

 

“Lager, Mr. Potter,” he said, setting down a cold beer on the table.

 

There were two of them sitting at the table, a tall man with the sort of hairstyle that was all the rage in the seventies and a shorter, more professional looking sort with a long face. He wondered if this was where they went after work or after their strange, secret lodge meetings. He'd never worked up the courage to ask about it. In any event, they were certainly drinking in the manner Mr. Carruthers recognized was not a celebration but a traditional drowning.

 

“Thanks, mate,” a downtrodden young man said.

 

Young to Mr. Carruthers these days, was under fifty and this young snapper looked to be in his thirties at most.

 

“All right?” he said, curiously.

 

“Oh fine, fine,” Mr. Potter said, “aside from the rug being pulled out from under me.”

 

“Budge up,” the taller of the two said, “it's not the end of the world.”

 

The tall one was known around the pub as Mr. Black. He had ordered a large chippy to go with his sixth lager and Mr. Carruthers was waiting on his fry cook to serve it up. He'd never had to hire a fry cook before or enough patrons to cause a wait, it was all so very novel.

 

“I can't believe you're saying that of all people,” the young man groused.

 

“Trouble at home?” Mr. Carruthers said, “I may be old but I've been around the block a few times with the missus.”

 

Mr. Black laughed, “No, no. Nothing like that. A son er, getting into the wrong school.”

 

“Oh,” Mr. Carruthers said, “it was a terrible disappointment when my brother ending up in a private instead of a public, but he went on to invent an odd sort of self serve butter dish. Made a mint overseas, goes to show you it doesn't always matter where you start out but where you end up. Did a bit better than an old man with a pub, I'd say.”

 

“You're a blessing in disguise Mr. Carruthers,” said Mr. Potter, “where would we be without your chippy night, eh?”

 

“A lot hungrier,” Mr. Black said, “and far too sober.”

 

“Speaking of,” Mr. Carruthers said, “I'll be back with those chips for you, Mr. Black.”

 

After the muggle had left, Sirius and James sighed a little and turned back to their beers. It had been a genius idea to change the auror's meeting place from the predictable Three Broomsticks to the lesser known pub in an obscure muggle place. All they'd had to do was get permission for a secret entrance for wizards and witches and it was done. Simple enough to accomplish when discount chips and lagers were involved for the whole of the auror department and they had the place to themselves with no dodgy ears straining to hear their conversations. The bell jangled and the third member of their party finally arrived.

 

“Remus!” some excited voices were heard to exclaim, “how have you been?”

 

There was a lot of back slapping and hand shaking until finally, their friend made it to their table. Before sitting down Remus took in the sorry state of them. A pile of empty lager glasses was beginning to turn into a rather large, glass mountain.

 

“It’s really not the end of the world,” Remus said.

 

Sirius snorted, “that's what I said.”

 

“It is the end of the world!” James said offended, “My son is in a dungeon pit full of snakes! His head of house is Severus sodding Snape! It’s downright shameful!”

 

Remus cleared his throat a little, “Not everyone in Slytherin is a complete bastard.”

 

James dignified him with a huff, “No, only just about every evil wizard and witch to ever live was in there for a time. Not that I think Harry is evil. That's the problem! He's not, he'll be eaten alive.”

 

Sirius took another drink, “Ol’ Snivellus is a raw deal. Wonder if he’ll go hard on him?”

 

Remus pushed aside the fifth lager Sirius was about to down, “think you’ve had enough for now Padfoot.”

 

James snatched it back to him, “We haven’t. We haven’t had near enough of anything. I’m in bloody _mourning_.”

 

Remus received two venomous glares when he couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

“Have you read his letters,” Remus said, “poor Harry seemed more worried about our reactions than which house he was in.”

 

“I did read them,” James said, dejectedly, “And I'm worried that every death eater's brat in Slytherin is going to remember my name and seek revenge.”

 

“They're children,” Remus said with a sigh, “not murderers.”

 

“Children can be brutal,” Sirius reminded them, “think about what Reg and I got up to, at our age.”

 

“You're family was hardly conventional,” Remus said, gently.

 

“Neither is most of Slytherin,” Sirius said, “I wonder who's in his year? Avery? Crabbe? Malfoy?”

 

“Nott is,” James said, “And that's the one I'd watch out for. Malfoy's probably a spoiled little coward fussed over by his Mum. But that boy, from that house...”

 

“Children aren't their fathers,” Remus reasonably said.

 

The death of Mrs. Nott was still haunting the auror department and most of all, James Potter.

 

“You weren't there,” James said, “nothing can live in a place like that and not be somehow - _twisted_. It was a wreck of a house and wreck of a father who owned it.”

 

“Well I doubt Nott would go out of his way to bother Harry,” Sirius said, “if he knows what happened to his Mum.”

 

“Sirius, that's dreadful,” Remus said, “and besides, it would be better if they were friends. Or he had a friend. Anyone, really to look out for him. James, don't you work with a Bulstrode? They were all in Slytherin, weren't they?”

 

“Yes,” James said, “I don't know her very well, we're on nodding terms but that's about it. She has a daughter I think, built like a beater just like her Mum.”

 

“There you are,” said Remus, “that's hope, isn't it?”

 

Sirius and James looked at one another as though they weren't really sure if it was comforting at all.

 

“How bad can it be?” Sirius said, hesitantly.

 

“That's the spirit,” Remus said.

 

In the Slytherin dorm bathrooms Harry Potter was trying desperately to stop crying and doing a poor job of it. He wasn't keen on making enough noise for his dorm mates to notice him and he had suffered enough humiliation in the last week to last a lifetime. Everything had gone wrong since his sorting and had only gotten worse after his first potions lesson. Nothing on earth could have prepared him for Slytherin, he thought bitterly. He didn't even know where to start.

 

The potions classroom had been fascinating, there were so many magical creatures and dark creatures prepared as wet specimens all along the walls. It would be a difficult time for Harry to pay attention he had thought, with all of that around to distract him. Then their potion's master had appeared, robes flapping and Harry realized that if he wanted to survive the class at all he'd better learn how to at least look like he was listening to lectures or he'd be doomed.

 

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” Professor Snape had begun.

 

He had spoke in barely more than a whisper, but Harry caught every word – the Professor's presence was intimidating enough to keep everyone in class deadly silent.

 

“As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

 

Professor Snape's gaze had moved up and down the aisles, Harry was quite glad he had chosen a seat at the back on the Slytherin side. Neville however, was not so lucky. He had sat with Ron in the middle of the Gryffindor row.

 

“Ah, yes,” Professor Snape said, “Neville Longbottom our new _celebrity_.”

 

Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy had been snickering behind their hands. Harry recalled hearing Malfoy talking to Nott in the common room earlier, something about Neville not shaking hands with him like a proper wizard would.

 

“Poor manners for a pure-blood,” Nott said.

 

Most of Harry's time was spent in a little used corner of the common room, it was the coldest spot and had a marked draft coming in from the lake but it wasn't frequented by anybody else and only had one small table in the corner and its own green lantern. Harry had made it into his own personal study area, it seemed most of Slytherin was quite happy to ignore his existence as long as he didn't bring attention to himself.

 

“We'll have to teach him some manners then,” Malfoy said, “won't we?”

 

It had made Harry consider telling Ron and Neville that his classmates were out to get them but then when Harry thought back to all the trouble they had caused him and his already difficult time integrating with his house, he thought better of it. No one liked a snitch and nothing was more avidly hated in Slytherin than someone who couldn't keep a secret.

 

After Snape's bitter proclamation in potion's class, Neville had looked like he just about wanted to drop through the floor and disappear. At least, Harry had thought, Professor Snape wasn't a fan of Neville's either.

 

“Longbottom!” Snape said suddenly, “what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

 

“I-,” Neville had stuttered and Harry had watched, deliciously, “I don't know sir.”

 

Snape's lips had curled into a sneer.

 

“Tut-tut, fame clearly isn't everything,” Snape said dryly.

 

Down the roll call Snape had went until his gaze narrowed and the bottom of Harry's stomach had dropped out. What little he knew about his parents antagonistic relationship with his Head of House had suddenly come back with a vengeance.

 

“It seems Mr. Longbottom isn't the only celebrity we have this year,” Snape said, “Potter.”

 

Until this particular class, both professor and student had avidly pretended that the other didn't exist aside from a few brief conversations at bed check and Harry had quite honestly been happy that way. Unfortunately, all good things had to end and Harry had found himself being stared down hatefully from Professor Snape's large, hooked nose.

 

“Have _you_ thought to open a book before coming, Potter?” Snape said, “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

 

 _Potions stores_ , would be the most obvious answer but Harry had an idea showing cheek in Snape's class was a mistake.

 

“The stomach of a goat,” Harry said quickly.

 

The class had remained silent, the Gryffindors had nervously looked at one another and the Slytherins said nothing but watched eagerly to see what Snape would do to the odd first-year Gryffindor that had ended up in Slytherin house. Harry fancied that Snape had looked taken-aback for a few seconds but had quickly recovered.

 

“Everyone knows that,” he had all but snarled, “What is the difference then Potter, between Monkshood and Wolfsbane,”

 

Harry had been shocked that he would be able to answer another question at all but Uncle Remus had been living with them for a long time. He knew all about Wolfsbane and he would have anyway because of his voluminous texts on dark creatures.

 

“They're the same plant,” Harry said, “called, erm, aconite?”

 

Snape had glared at him with a look Harry had never seen on anyone's face before. He still wasn't sure if it had been admiration or murderous intent.

 

“For your information, Mr. Longbottom, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it's called draught of the living death. Well? Why aren't any of you copying this down? Mr. Potter can't possibly be the only one who has been reading a book,” Snape snapped at them.

 

There had been a sudden rummage for parchment and quills, Harry had already been taking notes as it wasn't as though he was going to be stopped mid-morning for conversation. Harry had felt the burning feeling of black, steely eyes on the top of his head and it had nearly put him off his parchment.

 

“Five points for Slytherin,” Snape said, coldly.

 

Harry had stopped mid-notes. That had not been what he was expecting. He had glanced over and had seen Ron glaring at him as though knowing the answer to a question had been personally offensive but Neville next to Ron looked as equally miserable as Harry felt, so that was something. Harry had tried to ignore them and kept taking notes but a wad of paper had hit the side of his head, hard. He had slipped it under his desk and unfolded it.

 

 _SWOT_ , it had said in fancy, scratchy letters.

 

Harry had looked up and saw Blaise Zabini smirking behind his hand. He really didn't like Zabini and the sentiment had been apparently echoed. Harry had crumpled up the paper and went back to copying notes until Snape ordered that they ready their cauldrons for a simple brew.

 

“Into your pairs for brewing,” Snape announced.

 

Quickly, students had scattered into twos. Millicent it seemed, had been the only Slytherin that didn't seem to dislike Harry on principle alone and she had been paired with Daphne so she was unfortunately out. Harry then had noticed that Theodore Nott was crawling over some desks to get to his corner like some kind of pale, gangly spider.

 

“ _Oh no,”_ Harry had thought, _“anyone but him.”_

 

Theodore Nott had been a catalyst to Harry's only other confrontation with Snape before this class. The Slytherin first-years had beds that were placed two or three in open cubbies in the dungeon. Malfoy's cubby of course, held three beds one for him and the other two for his friends Crabbe and Goyle. Harry had chosen a two bed cubby in the back hoping that there wouldn't be a need for anyone else to join him. Unfortunately, Nott had made his way over to Harry's nook and had begun setting up his things at the other bed probably to be closer to his friend Malfoy. All of Nott's things had smelled just as odd and awful as he did and as he was extremely studious, perhaps as equally studious as Hermione, his voluminous piles of paper, books and writing utensils and scratched up notes had begun swelling at an alarming rate until Harry found himself kicking them aside each time he wanted to get to his bed.

 

“Nott,” Snape said, when he had done bed check the first night, “clean up this disgrace!”

 

“Certainly, Professor,” Nott said, obviously having no intention to do anything about it.

 

Snape had then rounded in on Harry who had been underlining important passages in his transfiguration text and taking some notes.

 

“Potter,” Snape snarled, “unless you want detention your first day I suggest you keep this cubby spotless!”

 

Shocked, Harry had snapped his head up from his notes. Snape might as well have asked Harry to build a wall around Hogwarts, there was no way he could keep his bed clean with Nott's papers sicking up everywhere. Snape had left to check the other beds and Harry had crumpled his papers angrily and threw them at Nott.

 

“I'm not cleaning up your mess,” he hissed at him.

 

Nott just laughed at him, “you're the one who's going to get in trouble then. I don't think Professor Snape likes you.”

 

Harry had felt awful because he was right but he still wasn't doing it, nothing on earth would get him to pick through the nasty smelling papers and Nott's rubbish, detention or not.

 

Of course Nott would want to pair with him in potions then, Harry had thought glumly. It would be another opportunity to look good in front of Malfoy by humiliating the Slytherin nobody else seemed to like. They had quietly sorted out their ingredients as Snape stalked around the classroom, his cloak snapping as he turned corners to make biting remarks to first-years who weren't sure how to weigh nettles properly.

 

“Why doesn't Snape like you?” Nott whispered to him, while Snape had been berating a Gryffindor for poor technique.

 

It had been a harmless enough question and had deserved an equally harmless answer.

 

“I don't know,” Harry said, “he's not fond of my Dad.”

 

“The famous auror,” Nott said coldly, “I know all about him.”

 

“So does everybody,” Harry said glumly.

 

“But you don't know what he does, I bet,” Nott said.

 

Harry had glared at him, “why would it matter?”

 

“At the ministry aurors keep a tally on all the death eaters they kill,” Nott extricated, “I bet his is the longest.”

 

Harry had hissed between his teeth, “that's a lie!”

 

“I bet it's true,” Nott said, smiling nastily, “ask him. He's a first rate murderer, that's what my father said.”

 

Their conversation would have gone further but instead a loud explosion had shocked the classroom and Neville had groaned loudly in pain. It seemed his potion had been mixed poorly and had melted the cauldron when it had exploded. The potion rapidly climbed across the floor and everyone had to get up on stools to avoid being covered. Neville had boils all over which should have been a great spectacle but Harry had hardly cared, what Nott had said stayed with him.

 

“Are you like him?” Nott asked, as Snape was distracted dealing with Neville and ordering Seamus to take him to the hospital wing.

 

Harry had been climbing down from his stool after Snape had banished the mess with a flick of his wand.

 

“I'm not an auror or planning on being one,” Harry said sharply, “and I haven't killed anybody in _self defense_ yet, so no. Probably not.”

 

“Watch your mouth Potter,” Nott said, his expression turning nasty, “or else.”

 

Harry wondered what he had said that had made Nott suddenly so angry. He wouldn't speak to Harry the rest of class, not that he had minded much considering the topic of their previous conversation. But then the worry had planted itself into Harry's head and wouldn't let go. Had his father ever killed anybody working as an auror? Accidents happened but Harry hadn't really known, he hadn't really know anything at all about what his father and Uncle Sirius had done and were doing. He had never wanted the details, perhaps because he knew they wouldn't be very nice.

 

That may have been the end of it but as Harry was leaving potions class Crabbe had swaggered up to him and smacked him upside the head.

 

“Swot,” he had heard him say, as he walked past.

 

Suddenly Harry had realized that being called on in potions class and Snape's treatment of him might as well have put a sign saying 'open season' over his head. It was only going to get worse, he realized.

 

Over the next week, the older Slytherins had begun staking him out, trying to shake him up in hallways and classrooms when he was alone. It wasn't much more than name calling, they knew beating up a helpless first-year would hardly win them any house points or any praise. But Harry hated it all the same, there was only so often you could hear phrases like 'mudblood' and 'swot' and not let them get under the nerves, especially when they were hissed at him by much larger, uglier and meaner third year boys.

 

The quidditch beater Flint, especially had it out for him and his quidditch cronies particularly enjoyed sniggering with each other while pointing at him during dinner at their house table. Harry often sat alone with a wide birth around him, only the Bloody Baron nearby for company. He was absolutely and utterly by himself every moment of the day and he hadn't even been able to speak to Hermione yet. He would sometimes glance at her table and notice that she often looked just about as isolated as he did. There were also empty chairs around her and she was usually seen nibbling at her food while reading very large books. Terry it seemed had made a lot of new friends and was seen chatting with them, he hadn't even acknowledged Harry in the hall at all. Perhaps because Harry had been sorted in the house that he had disliked the most. Harry had ached to redo the sorting, he had wished ardently he could go back and be put in Ravenclaw where he belonged. But there was no undoing what had been done, he was stuck in Slytherin for good with only Nott for company.

 

“Potter,” Nott said as he slipped into the chair next to him, “what were doing borrowing the seventh year book on dark creature autonomy?”

 

Nott had usually sat next to Malfoy but the last week he'd excuse himself to go pester Harry with twenty questions. It had become a regular tradition during meals.

 

“Research,” Harry replied flatly.

 

“I thought it was funny,” Nott said, “because most first-years don't even know what a dark creature really is, let alone their rights.”

 

“If it's so funny why aren't you laughing,” said Harry, who had attempted to sound bored.

 

The night before potions, Harry had caught Nott trying to do something to his glasses that Nott had picked up off of Harry's own night stand and they had gotten into a scuffle over it, despite Nott's attestations he was going to 'improve' them. Nott had become a thorn in his side but much like Malfoy, appeared to have some kind of free-pass with Professor Snape. He never got into any trouble no matter what he did, as long as he wasn't flaunting it in front of the other professors.

 

“Do you think I'm trying to be funny Potter?” Nott said nastily.

 

These strange confrontations never seemed to go anywhere but Harry had read threat in Theodore Nott's every word. Like he had been waiting for the chance to lash out at him.

 

“No,” Harry said, feeling irritable that day, “I really don't. You're actually kind of sad.”

 

Harry had taken a good long look at the disheveled boy with the rabbity face and mousy brown hair that straggled its way down the side of his face like crumpled, dry paper. It had almost reached Nott's shoulders and looked like it needed a good brushing. Thankfully it wasn't greasy but it had that unpleasant mouldering smell that hung around Nott no matter how much he washed. It may have had something to do with the way Nott slept, generally under his enormous pile of books and notes. He rose up from the pile like a vampire from its coffin every morning, bleary and grumpy and generally ready to push around Harry as much as he could.

 

“You're the one that hasn't got any friends,” Theodore said, smirking.

 

“Never seen you with any either,” Harry snapped, “Malfoy hardly counts, he's got Crabbe and Goyle doing his bidding all the time.”

 

Nott had scoffed, “as if I need two thick dullards to get what I want. And besides, at least you can understand what I'm saying. Crabbe and Goyle are barely sentient.”

 

Harry rarely laughed but he had found himself laughing a little at Nott's accurate assessment of their character. They were awful to live with, clumsy and oafish though slavishly devoted to Malfoy for reasons Harry couldn't comprehend. Harry didn't like Nott but he wasn't sure if anyone else did either. Everyone seemed to put up with him for reasons that baffled Harry but no one seemed to really get along with him. They were just afraid of him, he was very good at hexes already.

 

“Now you think I'm funny,” Theodore said, but not in an unkind way, “I know they're after you, the third years.”

 

Harry had stopped laughing and glared at his empty plate. At any moment, his eyes would begin watering and then he'd hardly be able to control himself. Nott was a berk, Harry didn't know why he had ever felt sorry for him even for a moment.

 

“If you wanted to gloat, try it at bed check,” Harry snapped.

 

Their conversation had ended as Harry had got up and left the hall before he could make an even bigger fool out of himself than he already had. The misery he had been keeping in check the entire time had finally found an outlet when he went into the toilet that night and he had found himself sobbing helplessly over the sink. He had written to his parents, to Uncle Sirius, Remus and Peter and only one had written him back so far and that was only because Uncle Peter had sent a letter weeks ago from South America that had only gotten to him now. By himself at night in the Slytherin dorm bathroom he had what his Mum had termed one of his famous meltdowns. He cried until he could barely cry anymore, until his eyes had practically dried up from the amount of water he'd been spewing from his face. At home he'd had his mother to comfort him but in unfriendly Slytherin house, he'd had no one but himself. Harry sniffled and wiped his eyes with some tissue from the magical dispenser by the sink. He wondered if he wrote to his mother about the situation if she'd let him go home?

 

The mirror above his sink suddenly darkened, Harry blinked in surprised as he heard a stall door slam and felt a cold gust of air against his pyjama clad legs. He expected to see Crabbe or heaven forbid, Malfoy saunter in and make fun of him for his tears. Instead he saw a dark shape standing behind the stalls barely visible in the green lighting. Harry squinted and looked closer, then gasped and leaped back. The man in the mirror wasn't a first-year student at least, no less than a sixth year. It was a strange ghost made dark by the shadows across the wall, he couldn't see much besides its long, black hair. It glared at Harry, let out a raspy groan then disappeared.

 

Harry trembled, he cleaned himself up quickly and fled back to his bed determined to write his mother in the morning and beg, if he had to, in order to get out of Slytherin.

 

All thoughts of leaving Hogwarts were forgotten by the morning as the pitch was green and glorious and it was time for flying lessons. Harry excelled at flying and knew he'd be spectacular as long as he could over the first few boring lessons. Malfoy wouldn't shut up about flying and bragged constantly about his elaborate flying escapades, most of which ended with him flying away from muggle helicopters. Harry fought hard not to roll his eyes. Most children from magical families knew how to fly even at a rudimentary level, Harry had been practicing since he was a baby. If anyone could outrun a muggle helicopter, it would be him not Malfoy.

 

“Potter!” Nott had jogged up to him, “bet you've flown before.”

 

“Good bet,” Harry said.

 

Harry glanced to his left and noticed Millicent with two other Slytherin first-years, Daphne and Pansy neither of whom he'd ever had more than a word with in classes.

 

“She's a good girl,” Nott said.

 

“Who?” Harry asked.

 

“Millie,” Nott said, “she lives near Bergedwyld castle, my house.”

 

Harry was surprised, he didn't really know they were friends. Then he recalled Millie holding onto Nott's arm before they had been sorted.

 

“You know her?” Harry said, “she tried to cheer me up at the sorting.”

 

Nott snickered, “I heard. She didn't do a very good job, did she?”

 

Harry frowned, “not really, no.”

 

“We haven't covered cheering charms yet,” Nott said, “more's the pity.”

 

Malfoy had caught up with them along with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry didn't like any of them much and hunched his shoulders as though waiting for an attack.

 

“What are you doing, Nott?” Malfoy said.

 

“Talking to Potter,” Nott said, “what does it look like?”

 

Malfoy looked at Harry as though he'd just noticed his existence for the first time.

 

“I remember you,” Malfoy said, offhandedly, “you were hiding in a book shop.”

 

Crabbe and Goyle snickered nudging each others' shoulders as though sharing a secret joke. Harry felt put upon, he hadn't asked for a circle of snakes looking for a place to strike.

 

“I was reading,” Harry said.

 

“Not much difference these days,” Malfoy said, “I see you skulking in the corner all the time with your books. If Nott hadn't bothered to say hello, we'd never have had a conversation at all.”

 

Harry desperately wanted to reply that a conversation with Malfoy wasn't worth much at all but he was one of Nott's friends and it was more trouble than it was worth to mouth off with Crabbe and Goyle around to stick up for him.

 

“Wasn't aware anyone wanted to talk to me, is all,” Harry said.

 

“Don't crowd him,” Nott hissed, “he's my friend not yours.”

 

“I think he can decide for himself who his friends are,” Malfoy said.

 

“Nobody's my friend,” Harry snapped.

 

If it wasn't his imagination, Harry thought Nott may have looked a little bit crestfallen. Malfoy however, was undeterred.

 

“Have you heard about The Boy Who Lived?” Malfoy said, “he got detention his second day here. More like the Idiot Who Lived.”

 

Crabbe and Goyle laughed on cue and Harry never wanted to be anywhere else but between all four of them at that moment.

 

“I'm really sick of hearing about Neville,” Harry said.

 

“That's because he lives with him half the time,” Nott supplied.

 

Harry looked at him surprised, “How did you know that?”

“I read your letters,” Nott said.

 

“My letters,” Harry said, then it hit him.

 

There was a reason he hadn't received a letter from his parents in a week. And suddenly Nott's absences at breakfast made sense.

 

“You've been filching my letters from the owlery!” Harry accused.

 

“Bribing the owls to hand them over, really your family needs pickier birds,” Nott said, “If I give them a few rats they'll do just about anything.”

 

“You absolute-!” Harry said, incensed.

 

Nott was smiling at him, as though it was the best accomplishment in the world and deserved high praise. Harry was ready to strangle him.

 

“Line up!” Madame Hooch said, “One per broom!”

 

The teacher, Madame Hooch finally arrived. Her yellow eyes startled Harry at first, she looked a bit like a hawk which was only accentuated by her short silver hair. Whatever violence Harry wanted to enact would have to be put on hold. They lined up next to their brooms that were laying on the grass, Harry thought they all looked rather tatty and old.

 

“Hullo, Harry,” said the voice Harry had least wanted to hear.

 

“Budge off, Nev” Harry said.

 

Next to Neville was of course, Harry's least favourite person.

 

“Oi,” Ron Weasley said, “don't call him that!”

 

“You too, Weasel,” Harry said, his parents weren't around to scold him for that one.

 

Harry thought he heard Malfoy laughing with Crabbe and Goyle.

 

“Weasel,” Nott snickered with him, “that's a good one.”

 

Of course, Nott had decided to take the broom next to Harry's just to be a prat.

 

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch, “And say 'UP'!”

 

“Up!” everyone shouted.

 

An ugly crunching sound and a startled cry from Ron was heard. Harry quickly looked to his left and saw Ron laying sideways on the pitch covering his nose, there were nasty red splotches all over the grass.

 

“Ron!” Neville cried, “I'm so sorry! I didn't know it would do that!”

 

Harry couldn't help it, he let out a laugh. He couldn't believe that Neville had managed to smash Ron Weasley's face with his broom just from calling it. The other Slytherins were sniggering too, Parkinson in particular thought it was quite funny and turning red in the face trying not to laugh so hard.

 

Madam Hooch had run to check Ron as soon as she had heard the awful snapping of wood meeting bone.

 

“Stop that laughing, it could be serious! Come on boy- oh dear, your nose is probably broken. No major damage but we'll take you to the hospital wing to have it sorted. None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'! Come on, dear.”

 

No sooner were they out of sight than Harry burst into louder laughter.

 

“That was the worst thing I've ever seen you do, Nev!” Harry said, using the nickname Neville loathed, “And I've seen a lot!”

 

“Shut up!” Neville said, “Why are you so awful Harry? I've only tried to be nice to you!”

 

Harry stopped laughing and glared angrily at Neville.

 

“Listen up Nev,” Harry said, “I put up with you because I have to. That's all.”

 

Harry stood close to Neville taking a cue from the way Malfoy had confronted a second year the other day. Harry was a little shorter than Neville and skinnier but he could tell it made Neville nervous having him that close anyway.

 

“You're not my friend,” Harry said, “Don't go telling lies that we are.”

 

“Wouldn't dream of it,” muttered Neville darkly.

 

From Neville's pocket, a shiny red ball fell out and plunked onto the grass. Harry recognized it instantly as a Remembrall that Neville's Gran had given to him. Before Neville could pick it up, Harry grabbed it from his hand.

 

“Oi Nev,” Harry said, feeling better than he had in weeks, “how are those remedial flying lessons going? Want to test them out?”

 

“No!” Neville said, “Harry we'll get suspended!”

 

“Be a coward then,” Harry said, mounting his broom and lifting into the air.

 

Harry flew high in the air until he was sure Neville wouldn't be able to reach him or his Remembrall. Then in a fit of pique, he pulled out the ball and his wand while balancing dangerously on his broom. He thought about how awful Neville had treated him and how fun it would be to chase him with a snitch.

 

“ _Snitdgeous Snitch_!” Harry said.

 

The Remembrall suddenly became sentient, growing eyes that glowered and a round mouth full of sharp teeth. Harry almost dropped it in surprise. He hadn't really known what he was doing, he'd hardly expected anything to happen. But like a snitch it suddenly grew ugly little wings and began flying.

 

“What did you do to my Remembrall!” Neville shrieked.

 

It seemed tampering with his Gran's gift had finally given him a dose of courage.

 

“Get him Potter!” Nott shouted from the ground as Neville lifted off.

 

“What's he playing at,” Malfoy said to Nott, “what did he do?”

 

He looked almost as confused as Crabbe and Goyle which made Harry snicker, that look on their faces wasn't something he'd soon forget. The new and improved Remembrall took off and Neville began chasing it almost immediately. They dipped and dodged and Harry tried to shake Neville from his broom by pulling on the tatty straw ends. They both dove for it at the same time their hands both nearly reaching the shrieking screetching Remembrall. A whistle sounded and the surprise sent Harry of course. Neville caught the ball, fell off his broom and promptly shouted as it bit his hand.

 

“Change it back Harry!” he said.

 

“I don't know if I can,” Harry said.

 

The Remembrall had found Neville particularly taste for some reason and it wasn't letting go of his hand any time soon.

 

“Ow!” Neville shouted.

 

“What are you boys doing!”

 

Harry blanched, it was Professor McGonagall one of the strictest professors in Hogwarts and she was not favorable towards Slytherins at all.

 

“Neville Longbottom!” she shrieked, “Out of all my students I never thought you'd be the one playing an impromptu quidditch game – how dare you- both of you might have broken your necks!”

 

“It wasn't Neville's fault professor-”

 

“Be quiet Miss Patil-”

 

“But Longbottom started it-”

 

“Silence Nott,” she said, none too kindly, “Potter, Longbottom follow me, now.”

 

Harry looked at Neville who looked like he wanted to stuff the Remembrall down Harry's throat. It still hadn't let go of his hand.

 

“ _Finite Incantatum_ ,” Proffessor McGonagall said, holding her wand over it.

 

But the Remembrall hadn't changed at all and gave McGonagall an even nastier look digging its teeth into Neville's hand a little harder, much to his dismay.

 

“What did you do to it Potter?” she asked him, “Jinx, hex, transfiguration?”

 

“I-I don't know,” Harry said, “I just made up words and then it turned into that.”

 

Professor McGonagall looked at him like he had lost his mind.

 

“A very effective spell, then. Your head of house can sort it out, Professor Snape will be called when we get up to my office,” she said peevishly.

 

Harry blanched and miserably followed after Neville. He might as well pack his bags, he'd be getting his wish after all. Kicked out of Hogwarts after the first week. He wondered what his parents would do when he came home again, he could picture their confused and sorry faces after he'd let them down. Professor McGonagall swept along and it took everything for Neville and Harry to keep up, especially since the nasty Remembrall still hadn't let go of Neville's hand. She stopped before the entryway to the dungeon and it was with a smug sense of satisfaction that Harry noticed Neville beginning to look nervous. Down they went until they reached Professor Snape's office. Once swept inside Professor McGonagall finally managed to get the Remembrall off of Neville's hand with a sticking charm and a few good tugs. His hand was black and blue and the teeth of it had drawn a bit of blood.

 

The Remembrall was tetchily slammed under a bell jar by professor McGonagall.

 

“I'll be alerting your head of house,” she said, “Neville, come with me. Potter, do try to stay out of trouble. It's fairly certain you're going to be in enough as it is without making the punishment worse. Professor Snape rarely goes easy on his charges.”

 

If Harry hadn't thought better of it, he would have asked her why she seemed so gleeful. After a few moments she was gone and so was Neville, which left Harry all alone to face Professor Snape and imagine all of the many potential punishments he'd be in for. After what seemed like ages, Professor Snape finally arrived with a slam of the door and a snap of his robes.

 

“What's the meaning of this Potter,” Snape snarled at him, “Bullying students? Impromptu quidditch? It must have been quite the prank if Nott was claiming your innocence.”

 

Harry thought that perhaps what Nott had tried to do for him had been one of the nicest things a Slytherin at Hogwarts had ever attempted. It was really, a very depressing thought.

 

“I'm sorry, sir,” Harry said.

 

Snape slammed his hand down on the desk causing Harry to jump.

 

“Charming a snitch to bite a student is hardly appropriate behaviour for a Slytherin. Don't get caught!- Potter, didn't your father ever teach you anything? Or was there no more room after quidditch in that vacuous head of yours for anything worthwhile?” Snape said.

 

Harry didn’t have anything more to say after that. The Remembrall was bounding wildly against the bell jar, as though it were trying to get out. Snape grabbed it and flipped it over.

 

“Finite Incantatum!” Snape spat at it.

 

Harry didn't have time to tell the Professor that McGonagall had already tried the same when the Remembrall latched onto Snape's hand and refused to let go. A look of pain crossed his face at which point Harry was sure the little Remembrall was done for but then he turned and glared at Harry instead.

 

“Potion? Hex? Transfiguration? What have you done, Potter?” Snape said.

 

“I've already told Professor McGonagall,” Harry said, “I just said some nonsense and it went like that, I don't know how.”

 

Snape extracted his hand from the Remembrall and slammed it back into the bell jar.

 

He held out his slightly red hand, “Wand, Potter.”

 

With a sick sensation in his stomach Harry handed over his wand to Snape who looked at it as though it was disgusting. Quite frankly, it was a very ugly wand but it had done great things for Harry so he was beginning to become fond of its odd knobbly-ness.

 

“Is this a hewn wand?” Snape asked.

 

“Yes,” Harry said, “rose hewn with an, erm Augurey feather core.”

 

“Augurey,” Snape said, a furrow appearing in his brow.

 

“Family wand,” Harry muttered.

 

He cast a spell on Harry's wand that showed the last spell used, _Priori Incantato_. Harry wondered if it would show the freshening charms on Nott's things when his cubby-mate wasn't looking, a scouring charm or the _reparo_ on his glasses that Nott had sat on by accident. When the latest spell came up he saw Snape's expression turn into something he'd never expected to see before, disbelief and shock.

 

“Come with me, Potter,” Snape said, slamming the Remembrall in an enclosed jar.

 

For the second time that day, Harry found himself trying to keep pace with a teacher through the Hogwarts hallways. But instead of going down into the dungeons, they were now heading up and up to the Headmaster's office. Harry quietly panicked wondering if this meant he was actually going to be expelled, and Snape was merely checking with Dumbledore before chucking him out on his backside.

 

Snape muttered the password, “Sherbert Lemon”, and the door slowly opened.

 

Up the winding staircase they went, Harry's nervousness growing every second. He wasn't sure how his family's old friend would respond to Harry getting detention or expelled or any of the other horrifying scenarios that easily came into his mind. Finally, they reached Headmaster's Dumbledore's office itself behind enormous solid, oak wooden doors. Harry immediately saw a Phoenix to his delight, though it looked to be on a burning day as its plumage was wilted. High up on a shelf he saw the sorting hat, he quickly looked away from it frustrated by its existence. Snape had his potion stained fingers pressing painfully in his shoulders as he directed him straight ahead to where Dumbledore was sitting at his desk looking quite relaxed considering the seriousness of the situation, in Harry's opinion. He regarded them both with a smile.

 

“What can I do for you Severus,” he said, “and the young man in front of you, who appears rather terrified. Though I do hope with wonder and not with fear.”

 

Harry relaxed his shoulders a bit but was still ready for the worst.

 

“Potter cast a spell,” Snape said, “during an altercation with other children. The nature of this spell is...”

 

Snape searched for words to convey his meaning.

 

“Perplexing?” Dumbledore offered, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

 

Snape's mouth twisted and he shoved Harry into a chair. The angry, spitting Remembrall was plunked on the headmaster's desk for examination. Headmaster Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and gave it a thorough once over, picking it up and examining it from every angle.

 

“Have you tested any potions on it?” Dumbledore asked him.

 

“No,” Snape said, “I only noticed it's strangeness when it wouldn't react to my spells.”

 

“Very good Severus,” Dumbledore said, “as this strange magical creature is the first and last of its kind, I do believe we have an endangered species.”

 

“What?” Harry said.

 

The dark look Snape gave him made him immediately close his mouth.

 

Professor Dumbledore regarded Harry very seriously.

 

“What you have done is technically against the magical creature ordinance,” he smiled, “but it would be in our best interest to let it go this one time as it was entirely unintentional and appears rather harmless. Congratulations, I believe you're a parent to a new species of dark creature.”

 

“Dark creature?” Snape said, flummoxed.

 

“Oh yes,” Professor Dumbledore said, “very dark indeed. Didn't you notice Severus? It makes one feel annoyed just looking at it, dare I say, aggressive. This is possibly what it feeds upon to stay alive, the feelings seem to pass as the creature has its fill and all is once again well in its presence. I assure you Severus, it's been well fed in your office and won't cause any trouble. Harry, may I please have your wand?”

 

Snape took Harry's wand from his pocket and handed it to Dumbledore. After casting Priori Incantato, Dumbledore had a very serious look on his face.

 

“It's a magnificent wand Harry, though with a rather alarming past,” Dumbledore said, “did you know that rose-hewn wands were almost exclusively used by dark wizards?”

 

“I didn't know,” Harry said truthfully, “it came from our family vault.”

 

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, “I may ask you something now that may seem a bit strange. But have you had an easy time making friends in Slytherin?”

 

Harry wanted to lie but he knew that would be unwise.

 

“Not really, sir,” Harry said, “not for lack of trying. But um, Nott seems to like me. Sort of. I think.”

 

Snape let out a scoffing sound.

 

“He likes that you're clever, Potter,” Snape said, “don't mistake a Nott for something - pitiable.”

 

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore said, “many friendships have been made from worse beginnings and have made far worse ends than a tiny, snapping creature. A friend made under duress can sometimes become a friend for life. I'm glad that you're not entirely alone, Harry. I'm sorry for the troubles that have beset upon you after your sorting into that house.”

 

Snape had nothing to say to that and continued to glare straight ahead with a scowl on his face amd his arms sourly crossed.

 

“I know your parents very well,” Dumbledore continued, “and your many Uncles. I dare say you're living up to their legacy quite well already. They'd never begrudge you for your sorting, though I'm sure Sirius will have a very difficult time during quidditch games knowing who to cheer for. I know Slytherin wasn't where you wanted to be but I hope it will end up becoming the place where you needed to be. Severus, may I speak to you for a moment, privately? If you wish, I can have some tea and biscuits sent up for you, Harry.”

 

“Thank-you,” Harry said timidly, suddenly noticing he was starving.

 

Snape and Dumbledore receded to another room while a house elf popped in with tea and biscuits for Harry. Harry drank his tea and amused himself by making the cheery porcelain cup purr with a few gentle strokes. He was a little bit excited that he had accidentally made a creature, though also a little bit frightened. What exactly did Hogwarts do with a student who had made an illegal creature on school grounds? It hadn't been covered in the text he had been reading on the Hogwarts Express, perhaps because it had never happened before. After some time, Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape finally emerged from the back room. Harry caught for a brief second what he could only interpret as Professor Snape's pleased smile, it was a bit demented and showed off his very crooked, yellowed teeth. It was gone in a second and his expression quickly changed into the dour look Harry was used to.

 

“Harry Potter,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “the matter is up to you in the end but I would very much appreciate that your excess talents be used in the service of something greater than the torment of your fellow students, defensive though it may be. I would like to announce that for the immediate future and at least until your abilities mature, you will be taking a very special remedial lesson in the dark arts with Professor Snape.”

 

Harry nearly dropped his tea cup.

 

“The- the dark arts, sir?” Harry said.

 

“Yes,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “it is without a doubt you have an innate talent in this area. It would be best to be taught so that no more toothsome Remembralls' occur or any unfortunate explosions. I'll be alerting your parents that you are receiving extra lessons but not to their exact nature. It's best if we all keep this under our hats. If you would be so kind Severus to allow Harry to return to his day after a potential schedule has been arranged?”

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent arranging a time slot for Harry's extra class in Professor Snape's dungeon office. He wasn't sure if it was actually a positive turn of events, more homework seemed rather grim all things considered. And his Head of House – well, he didn't seem to hate Harry anymore but Harry wasn't sure if he could handle Professor Snape when he was excited (in a subdued, slightly scary sort of way).

 

At dinner that night all the excitement had given Harry quite an appetite. Harry had placed a few shovels full of pie on his plate right before Theodore Nott sat down next to him and smiled a rather thoothsome grin.

 

“I know why you went to Snape's office,” he said, smugly.

 

“I'm not expelled,” Harry said, “in case you were wondering. The cubby is still half mine.”

 

“Never thought you were expelled,” he said dismissively, “but I know you're getting extra lessons.”

 

“How,” Harry said, flummoxed, “did you know?”

 

Nott's smile grew and Harry was treated to a lovely view of his nasty, crooked teeth. It almost put him off his food. Didn't anyone in Slytherin have a toothbrush?

 

“I didn't,” Nott said, “but I guessed. I certainly know now.”

 

“Oh, budge off Nott,” Harry said, irately.

 

“Come on,” Nott said, “I know you're getting them from Professor Snape at least. Did you know that in the last ten years the Professor has been teaching at Hogwarts, he's had no less than fifteen potential witches and wizards dying to be his apprentice in the dark arts.”

 

Harry nearly made a disgraceful sound but he held himself back. The last thing he needed was for it to get around the school that Harry was being tutored by Snape of all things, in that particular subject.

 

“It would take an incredibly talented wizard to get him to relent,” Nott said, “I wonder if he would make an exception for you?”

 

Harry crammed his mouth full of mash and considered Theodore's words. It was quite an ego boost but at the same time rather frightening, what exactly would he be learning?

 

“I haven't done anything special,” Harry muttered, mouth full, “besides, I told you he doesn't like me because of my father.”

 

“I felt it, you know,” Nott said, “all that dark magic when you used your wand. I bet a lot of us did, the ones that knew what it was. So it made me wonder, is it the mental looking wand or the mental looking wizard that made that little ball turn into a monster?”

 

Harry did not appreciate Nott's colourful way with words.

 

“It's hardly a monster,” Harry said, “it's a little ball of fluff with teeth. And I'm no more mental than you, which might be saying quite a lot.”

 

“Oh, please. I've never seen a wizard make something _live_ before with dark magic, only die in various horrible ways,” Nott said, “I'm keeping an eye on you, Potter. Who knows what you'll get up to.”

 

Harry ate more steak and kidney pie to keep himself from saying something he'd regret by bed check. It sounded more like a threat than a promise of friendship even if Headmaster Dumbledore thought there was more to Nott than what met the eye. Harry was never sure where he stood with Nott at any given moment and he certainly wasn't sure now. Having Nott's praise was almost worse than having his ire, Harry was sure of it.

 

 


	9. An Unusual Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes time gets away from me but here we are. I hope if you close read the books you'll pick up on a few things I've intentionally left mysterious. Enjoy!

**An Un** **usual** **Friend**

 

 

The dark arts lessons with Professor Snape began with an enormous quantity of gigantic tomes that the Professor unceremoniously slammed onto a rickety table in an abandoned classroom. When they had first arrived to the classroom Professor Snape had waved his wand and hauled out a dusty black board from the darkness, a few plinths (these were gathered into a corner for later) and some uncomfortable, medieval looking chairs made of mahogany. The table had been magicked from the dusty corner where other furniture still remained stacked. Harry had been a bit excited but his excitement had waned when the enormous books were enlarged from a small pouch the Professor had brought with him. The whole first class had been reading while Professor Snape dourly looked over Harry's shoulder and waited for him to ask questions.

 

“What's a flagellant hex?” Harry asked.

 

“A spell to beat the caster with various whips,” Professor Snape said, with some distaste.

 

“Why would someone want to do that?” Harry asked, genuinely perplexed.

 

“Use your head Potter,” the Professor said, “and think about it.”

 

Harry tried to keep his questions sparing and to the point after that. Professor Snape was an awful teacher, it didn't take a Gryffindor to recognize that but what Slytherin noticed and Gryffindor didn't was that Professor Snape was extremely smart and there were vaults of secretive knowledge in his head that Harry could only hope to peer into someday. And Professor Snape would not give up glimpses into his thinking to just any student, according to the two sixth years Harry had heard talking amongst themselves in the common room. They had been Professor Snape's advanced potions hopefuls, and apparently his test was the hardest, harder than even Durmstrang's.

 

The books, while no more complex than Harry's more advanced readings on magical creatures, had other problems.

 

“Was that a scream I heard last night?” Crabbe said at breakfast, “I swore I heard a scream.”

 

The day when Crabbe stopped eating at breakfast to consider something before food was a remarkable one indeed. Goyle had looked at him very surprised.

 

“Screaming?” Malfoy said, “Are you out of your head? There weren't any screams.”

 

Yet, there had been actual screams in the dorm last night as in Harry's satchel, unbeknownst to the rest of the Slytherin first-years, Harry had a very strange book about very strange dark magic that had an even stranger face made of leather. It had shouted at him last night because Harry wouldn't listen to it mumbling to him in some dead language he didn't understand. He'd warned the book and the book had fought back but eventually with enough scrap parchment Harry had stuffed the mouth so it couldn't utter a word. He doubted Professor Snape would approve but it wasn't damaging the book and while squirming under Theodore Nott's scrutinizing gaze he was just glad that his cubby-mate hadn't found out about it or he'd certainly want to read it too.

 

“I didn't hear anything,” Harry mumbled, while eating his porridge.

 

“Where are you off to?” Malfoy said,

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “nowhere.”

 

“He's so advanced he's getting extra lessons,” Nott said, “private tutoring in the dark arts by Professor Snape is my guess.”

 

That was not actually where Harry was headed but he wouldn't bother correcting them. He'd thought he'd try and find Hermione before her first class. Considering her study habits along with Harry's she was likely reviewing in the library, though he hoped that her friend making abilities were at least somewhat better than his own. Perhaps she could introduce him to other, intelligent Ravenclaws.

 

“Oh please,” Malfoy said, “he's a first-year. Probably trying to find some friends in the library, he certainly reads more than enough for some Ravenclaw twit to latch onto him.”

 

Harry felt himself change every colour between red and orange before settling on a sickly pale. They were always so close to the mark but equally far off. Keeping a secret in Slytherin was almost an impossibility.

 

“Don't bother with them, Potter. Flint's offered to take us out on the pitch tomorrow,” Malfoy said, “in the evening.”

 

“That means you're invited,” Nott said, “I'll be going too so you'll at least know somebody.”

 

“We know each other,” Malfoy said, annoyed, “we've had three whole conversations since Potter crawled out of that corner of his.”

 

Harry became very annoyed. There wasn't any point in arguing with either of them, it was do this or do that and suffer the consequences both ways.

 

“I don't really know either of you at all,” Harry said, “not properly. And Flint hates me, I bet a friend would have known something like that. Find someone else to play gobstones with.”

 

Quickly and with purpose Harry fled from the Slytherin breakfast table until the sound of the great hall was no more than a feint noise in the distance. He quickly rounded up the staircase and made his way to the library ducking past Madame Pince, who hadn't liked the way he had accidentally wrinkled a book's dust jacket and had it out for him ever since. He had meant to look for Hermione, instead he began crying in the back not far from the restricted section behind one of the shelves.

 

“I hate Slytherin,” he sobbed, “I hate Hogwarts! _I hate it here!_ ”

 

After he had calmed down Harry gloomily went to defense against the dark arts class and sat as far away from both Nott and Malfoy as humanly possible. Malfoy looked bored between his two friends the dull Crabbe and duller Goyle but Harry was pleased that at least Nott seemed a little more downtrodden than he had been at breakfast.

 

“Wh-what kind of sound does a banshee make?” Professor Quirrel asked his class.

 

A few hands raised into the air. Harry wished he could compare it to his screaming dark arts book.

 

“A low moaning wail that causes death,” Daphne Greengrass said.

 

“V-very good,” Professor Quirrel said, “and does the banshee cause death for everyone who hears it?”

 

Harry raised his hand and Professor Quirrel picked him to answer.

 

“It's situational,” Harry said, “a banshee's power is in its voice. If it wishes to kill everyone it will but sometimes it's under orders by a wizard or seeking revenge.”

 

“Very good Mr. P-Potter,” Quirrel said, “and what sort of things would make a banshee seek revenge?”

 

“If someone mucked up its tomb,” said Millicent Bulstrode, “or wronged a family it's protecting.”

 

“Th-th-th-that's exactly right, Miss Bulstrode,” Professor Quirrel said, “we're in top form today. Five points to Slytherin for all of your very e-e-e-xcellent answers.”

 

Some days Harry found it very difficult to concentrate in Professor Quirrel's defense against the dark arts class though he wasn't entirely sure why. When Quirrel had their back to them he began to feel very strange, likely it had something to do with all the herbs and odd smelling things Professor Quirrel supposedly stuffed into his turban, Harry might have been allergic. After class had finished, Professor Quirrel asked Harry to stay behind.

 

“Is there anything wrong sir?” Harry said, tentatively.

 

For all that Professor Quirrel seemed harmless during class, in the hallways and during mealtimes, when they were alone Harry felt as though there was something wrong with him. It was a strange feeling he just couldn't shake.

 

“Oh, n-n-n-no Mr. Potter,” Professor Quirrel said, “I wondered how you were getting on. I happened to be in the library earlier today gathering some material for class.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, embarrassed, “I was just, well, a bit upset.”

 

“A-a-are you all right,” Professor Quirrel said, “in Slytherin?”

 

“I think so,” Harry said, “most days. I didn't mean to worry you, sir.”

 

Professor Quirrel reached out to comfort him and touched his arm. The crawling sensation fled across his skin and Harry jolted his whole body away from the Professor's grip. It was only for a moment but Harry thought he could see an evil face behind Professor's Quirrel's own.

 

“Are you all right?” Professor Quirrel asked.

 

“I'm fine,” Harry managed, “b-but you might want to check yourself into St. Mungo's.”

 

Quick as he could Harry fled the room, his arms still shivering from the cold touch and his mind rattled by what he had seen. Embarrassed by what he had said, Harry thought better of returning to his common room and headed towards the library instead. Among the familiar smelling stacks and quiet rows of books Harry caught site of a head of bushy hair he hadn't seen in almost a month.

 

“Hermione,” he stage whispered behind a stack, “over here!”

 

“Harry!” she said excitedly, a bit too loudly.

 

She clamped her hand over her mouth but Madame Pince must have been busy as she didn't get a reprisal. She quickly darted behind the shelves and made her way to his side.

 

“I was so surprised at the sorting,” Hermione said, “and then for a while it seemed you didn't want to talk to anyone. And then you looked upset! Which -who can blame you really being sorted in Slytherin ! And I didn't want to pry but- are you really all right?”

 

“I'm fine,” Harry said, “what about you? Are you having a better time in Ravenclaw?”

 

“Not really,” Hermione said, “it's so competitive so I've been, well, ignored because I'm competition.”

 

“They're right to be nervous, you're brilliant.” his compliment made Hermione beam.

 

“Sometimes it can get a bit lonely,” Hermione said.

 

“I thought Terry would be more help,” Harry admitted, “I'm sorry. I've been wrapped up in all my stuff I didn't notice you were by yourself until a long time later.”

 

“It's all right,” Hermione said, “we're talking now. And I saw Malfoy and Nott bullying you at breakfast, looks like you're having about as good a time as I am.”

 

“It's been horrible,” Harry said, “the third-years won't leave me alone. But it's all right, I've already been chosen for extra classes.”

 

“Really?” Hermione said excitedly, “for who, in which subject?”

 

In Harry's excitement he had forgotten that it was supposed to be a secret. He supposed it wouldn't have mattered anyway, Hermione was smart enough to figure it out on her own with all the extra reading he'd been doing and it wasn't as though she's go blabbing to a bunch of Slytherins.

 

“In a special subject,” Harry said in a low voice, “by Professor Snape.”

 

Hermione's eyes widened, “It's not-!”

 

“Shh,” Harry said, “it's a secret. But I trust you not to say anything about it. It went through Headmaster Dumbledore himself.”

 

“Wow,” Hermione said, “Harry that's a huge honour! Did anyone say why? I mean, you're very clever of course so that's reason enough but-”

 

“I have an innate talent that needs looking after,” Harry said, “though I'm not sure if making a snitch out of a Remembrall is much of a boon really.”

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione said.

 

Harry explained to her what had happened on the pitch and Headmaster Dumbledore's conclusion concerning his strange spell.

 

“I've only just started so I'm hoping Professor Snape will eventually let me in on what in the world I've done,” Harry said, “until then, it's all guessing on my end.”

 

“Is it,” Hermione asked, “still alive?”

 

“Oh yes,” Harry said, “I've kept it in a bell jar in my dorm. I'm thinking it might need a tank, it can't fly very far in there and it seems to get depressed when I'm gone from classes all day. If I ever figure out what I've done I might make it a friend.”

 

Hermione giggled, then turned serious, “it very well could be illegal, but if the Headmaster allows it I don't see why not.”

 

“It's essentially a leathery puffskein with teeth,” Harry said, “I doubt anyone will care.”

 

“Oi! What's this,” a familiar voice said from behind the stacks, “a mudblood jamboree?”

 

“Nott!” Harry said as loud as he dared, “Don't ever say that again! What are you doing here?”

 

Harry yanked the book from the shelf and revealed Nott's squinting eye behind it.

 

“I followed you,” Nott said, “I took your little speech at breakfast to heart. I didn't know you were so sensitive about your family, should I refrain from mentioning it?”

 

“Who is this- _person?_ ” Hermione said primly.

 

“Hermione,” Harry said, “meet Theodore Nott. Nott, this is Hermione Granger. Don't be rude to her, she's more brilliant than both of us put together.”

 

“That remains to be seen,” Nott said, “besides, what are you two doing colluding in the library?”

 

“It's a library,” Hermione said tetchily, “it's a place to collude. And I wasn't aware students ever left Slytherin, let alone to read books.”

 

It wasn't much of a surprise to Harry that Theodore Nott had managed to leave a terrible impression within five minutes of meeting someone.

 

“I like her already,” Nott said, “I didn't know you kept friends, Potter. I thought you had none.”

 

“Like you, you mean,” Harry said, “I've managed one.”

 

“Two!” Nott insisted, even as Harry pushed the book into his eye.

 

“He's a ridiculous person,” Harry said, “I'm sorry you had to hear that Hermione.”

 

“Ow!” Nott cried.

 

Harry wished he had thrown the book at Nott's head instead, it might have knocked some sense into him.

 

“I think I can manage,” she said, “but what's he doing following you around?”

 

“Probably wants to know what I've been learning,” Harry said.

 

“Actually,” Hermione said, “a study group may be a good idea. Not to learn about your private lessons or anything but just to catch up. See what we've been up to. I bet Terry would come if I could get him away from those awful boys for a few hours.”

 

“Might as well invite Nott,” Harry said, “Nott, I can still hear you breathing. Coming to study group?”

 

“Of course,” Nott's voice was muffled behind some books.

 

Hermione didn't look very pleased.

 

“It's for the best,” Harry said, “he'll just show up anyway. At least this way we'll know he's coming.”

 

“I suppose that's better than otherwise,” Hermione said, “but behave, Mr. Nott.”

 

“A school marm at eleven,” Nott said, “I'll do as I please, Miss Granger and so should you.”

 

“Her hexes are awfully good,” Harry warned, “watch yourself.”

 

“Noted,” Nott said.

 

They could both hear his steps receding through the library, though he paused for an awfully long time within ear shot until Harry had to go to class.

 

Finally after weeks of reading enormous books with various ugly faces that enjoyed mumbling in the dead of night, Harry had reached the practical part of Professor Snape's class. They had gone outside in the evening to the backside of the Forbidden Forest where the shrubs had grown wild but hadn't quite turned into trees. The Professor had conjured a wooden target and several benches around them.

 

“Tonight Mr. Potter, we're going to test how much elementary knowledge you've absorbed from books,” Professor Snape said, “as anyone knows, the dark arts are born out of need and are ever changing their shape. The more practical knowledge in your possession the better off one will be to defend oneself from it. Or in our case, to use the distinct lack of knowledge on the subject to our advantage.”

 

If the dark arts were best served from a practical standpoint, Harry had half a mind to ask why he had been reading every dark arts tome in existence for the past few weeks instead of practicing but held his tongue.

 

“We will be conjuring bats,” Professor Snape said, “in plethora. A relatively simple spell with a relatively simple effect, one that invokes fear.”

 

It was an extreme effort to maintain a neutral expression as Harry kept thinking of the Bat-Bogey hex, which was not a help to the lesson in the slightest.

 

“Bats are a creature that are associated with much of the dark arts,” Snape intoned, “not only due to their nocturnal associations but the ingredients used in particular potions. They are also unpleasant, grim looking animals which is how we will be using them in service to us now.”

 

And with that Professor Snape raised his wand and cast a spell.

 

“ _Vespervoltus_!”

 

Many bats, too numerous to count sprouted from the Professor's wand and filled the sky. They swirled around them shrieking and making noise, their black bodies almost one with the darkening twilight. If Harry hadn't known it was a spell it would have been a frightening sight indeed.

 

“ _Finite-incantatum_ ” Professor Snape said.

 

The bats all vanished into leathery blackness that gradually disappeared. There was an odd smell in the air, like rubber had been burned.

 

“Now it's your turn,” the Professor said.

 

Harry hesitantly stepped forward suffering from a sudden onset of nerves. This was the first spell he'd be casting in front of Professor Snape and he was sure he'd bunge it up somehow.

 

“Vespervoltus!” Harry said.

 

Nothing happened.

 

“Again,” Professor Snape said.

 

“Vespervoltus!” Harry tried, but nothing happened.

 

“Again!” Professor Snape said.

 

The professor began to loom a bit too close, looking down at him past his lank hair and hook nose. It was actually quite scary, he understood why students found him frightening when he was angry and everyone knew the Professor could get nasty if pushed. Harry felt a sickening prickle up his arms. He had to try harder.

 

“Vespervoltus!” Harry said.

 

“No, Potter!” Professer Snape snarled.

 

He snatched Harry's wand and imitated the wand motion he was supposed to be performing, then shoved it at him.

 

“Reverse 'Z' Potter, and you're holding back!” Professor Snape snapped, “Don't hold back in the dark arts because the practitioners certainly won't hold back when they're using it against you. What are you afraid of Potter? Your father's going to swoop down from his Auror's office and take away your broom? Mummy won't let you play in her back garden if you're caught? Get with it boy, you're a Slytherin not a Gryffindor clot! Try! Harder!”

 

From the depths of his stomach to the edge of his bones Harry felt it all rising up, the frustrations and irritations of these first few months. He was angry, as if he wanted to be in Slytherin! As if he'd wanted to let down his parents and made them more upset with him than he was sure they would be when he came home! He was already getting lessons in the dark arts for reasons that baffled him, of course he was holding back!

 

“ _Vespervoltus!”_ Harry screamed.

 

For a few seconds nothing happened and Harry thought he had failed again. But then an awful smell became apparent and at their feet an ugly crack opened up in the earth. Professor Snape let out a shocked cry as enormous quantities of nasty looking bat-like creatures burst from the crevice and flew around them, screaming and shrieking. Harry's wand hand shook. This was not what the spell was supposed to do. They weren't ordinary bats; their skin more leathery and their faces almost human, these things felt evil.

 

“F-fear,” Professor Snape uttered, “that's what they feed on that's what the spell was supposed to invoke. Focus on not being afraid.”

 

“ _Easy for you to say,”_ Harry longed to retort.

 

The grotesque bats had all roosted in the trees and were leering at them with grinning mouths full of teeth and tiny clawed wings.

 

“What do I do?” Harry said, shaking from head to foot.

 

“Focus! And end the spell!” the Professor shouted at him.

 

Harry wasn't sure if he could even utter words between the evil looking bats and Professor Snape screaming in his ear.

 

“ _Finite-incantatum!”_ he barely managed.

 

The bats screamed agonizing shrieks and then disappeared into tarry gray shreds. The crevice in the ground slowly closed up and Harry found himself breathing hard, still shaken. Professor Snape didn't look much better.

 

“What,” Harry gasped, “was that?”

 

“A problem,” Professor Snape said, in a forbidding tone.

 

Their class had ended early, everything was banished and receded back into the forest. Professor Snape said not a word after that and instead Harry ended up following him all the way through Hogwarts to the Headmaster's office.

 

“Wait here, Potter,” the Professor said.

 

On some stone benches Harry waited for a few minutes until the door opened and Headmaster Dumbledore popped his head out kindly.

 

“You can come in now, Harry,” he said, with a kindly smile.

 

Harry did not feel as though things were going to go well for him no matter how kind the Headmaster seemed. They never seemed to, since he was sorted.

 

After sitting down and appreciating the offered tea and biscuit, Professor Dumbledore clasped his hands and regarded both Harry and the much more agitated looking Professor Snape with a gleeful twinkle in his eye.

 

“Well Severus,” he said, “if you would like to tell Harry what you told me..?”

 

“I think not,” Professor Snape said, “it would terrify him.”

 

“I'm scared enough after the bats, thanks,” Harry said, then sipped some tea hoping it would calm his nerves.

 

Harry was pleased to notice Fawkes looked much better on his high perch with a full set of feathers and a beautiful yellow stripe.

 

“Ah, but it is his right to know,” Professor Dumbledore said, “it is, actually, a very old family matter.”

 

Professor Snape stood ram rod straight after that announcement looking even more sour than usual.

 

“So be it,” the Professor said bitterly, “Potter your magic is foul. Your parentage is to blame on the father's side, no small surprise there and if he knew what he had imparted to you he'd be horrified.”

 

Harry nearly spat out his tea.

 

“Now now, Severus,” Professor Dumbledore said, “he is only eleven, gently does it.”

 

“If he wanted gentle he could call up Madame Pompfrey who would put a bandage on his head and call him a good boy no matter what harm he's done to himself!” Professor Snape snarled, “Potter, your magic isn't just foul it's befouled. It started out that way! Some wizards are born with talents, like an metamorphmagus who can change their form at will, or a peculiar resistance to virulent poisons or parseltongue-”

 

Snape seemed to pause his dark eyes going wide, as though he'd caught up with what he'd just said. They narrowed again and Harry felt the hairs raise along his skin. Whatever this meant, it wasn't anything good like being able to turn into a gryphon.

 

“Some can even fly without brooms,” Headmaster Dumbledore supplied, “it's all very natural.”

 

“Even a talent for dark magic. Be that as it may,” Professor Snape said, “the wizarding world at large views your abilities as unnatural. Dangerous. They would be less dangerous if you grew up in a house that had some understanding of the dark arts beyond it's most elementary and rudimentary forms, then you would have been taught at a young age how to control it. Instead we have a rogue.”

 

“So what if Mum and Dad hated dark magic,” Harry said, “there's nothing wrong with that!”

 

Harry's teacup exploded in his hands and he looked at the tiny cuts on his palm in shock as they welled up with blood. Headmaster Dumbledore waved his wand and the tea and shards disappeared and his cuts slowly healed.

 

“It may be best not to mention his parents' habits Severus.” Headmaster Dumbledore cautioned, “we all feel passionate about our pasts Harry, you've done nothing wrong. They're very fine people if badly unequipped for our current situation.”

 

“He may not reach adulthood if it's not rectified,” Snape said quietly.

 

Harry blinked, surprised.

 

“I'm going to die?” Harry said, the conversation had moved well beyond him but he understood that part.

 

“Goodness Severus,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “let's not panic yet. No, Harry. Not if I have anything to say about it, fortunately there's enough literature to help.”

 

“We're dealing with,” Professor Snape said, “an anomaly that was last documented almost four hundred years ago. It ended badly then. It has ended badly as far as we know every other time in the past since.”

 

It felt like, to Harry, that Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape were having a conversation without him. It would have been more vexing if the atmosphere had been less grave.

 

“Thankfully the families left books,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “and a ghost. But we'll only go that route if we have to, she was an unpleasant sort and I doubt she'd be very helpful.”

 

It wasn't Harry's place to mention that he had seen an unpleasant ghost in the Slytherin dormitories the night he'd been crying in the bathroom. He kept quiet and tried to pretend Professor Snape wasn't trying to bore a hole through his head by looking at him.

 

“There is also the effect on magic,” Professor Snape said, “I kept careful notes over our initial lessons. Without any magical influence at all, the worst sort of potions became stronger. The hexes I cast lasted longer. Some to such perpetuity I ended them early. I haven't yet cast tonight after that little incident in the woods. Who knows what effect this would have on the general student populace, particularly the student bunking next to him who is already quite at risk in his propensity for the less than savory magic.”

 

“What are you suggesting Severus?” Headmaster Dumbledore asked, “separate him from his fellows?”

 

“A quarantine if I had my way!” Snape snapped, “It is precisely impossible to predict what augmentation this effect perpetuates. Does it have an effect like a charm or a love potion, does it seduce unwary casters into spells they were unaware of previously or had no interest in? That's not considering the danger it attracts. I wonder what it would do to his beloved godfather's propensities knowing his godson is a very appealing beacon for any dark wizard within a hundred mile radius! No one knows, Albus! That's the terrible truth and we'll only find out by subjecting the school to its influence.”

 

“That's inhumane,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “I won't have it-”

 

Harry thought he might be expelled after all – for his own safety.

 

“-he'll stay in Hogwarts treated as any other student,” Headmaster Dumbledore continued, “we will inform a family member. Just in case the situation becomes grave. But I doubt we will ever have to remove Harry Potter from Hogwarts at all. In fact, his sorting may have been a boon.”

 

It was to Harry's immense relief that he was allowed to stay, though he would have liked to argue the Headmaster's last point.

 

“Not Potter,” Professor Snape spat, “or his loyal dog.”

 

“Now now,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “let him choose who he wants to know. Keep in mind this must stay very secret, there are many people who would want to abuse the gift you've been born with, Harry.”

 

“Peter,” Harry said without hesitation, “my Uncle Peter.”

 

“ _Never!_ ” Professor Snape hissed with such force it startled Harry, “that foul trait-”

 

“Hush, Severus,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “Harry has made his choice.”

 

It was perhaps just Harry's imagination that the Headmaster seemed both relieved and very sad at the same time.

 

“It is for the best,” the Headmaster said, “fate has a strange way of taking certain matters out of our hands. Isn't that right, Severus?”

 

Professor Snape said nothing for a very long time.

 

“As you wish,” Professor Snape finally said.

 

“This may help you Harry,” Headmaster Dumbledore said.

 

The Headmaster handed him a book, a slim leather bound tome that an egg on the cover and two serpents twined around it.

 

Afterwards Harry followed Professor Snape back to his office. The Professor walked over to his chair and slumped into it, his gaze on the wet specimens and everywhere but Harry's face.

 

“Uhm,” Harry said.

 

“Silence,” Professor Snape said but without bite, “allow me to think.”

 

The book in Harry's hand was nearly causing him to combust with curiosity, he wondered if it would be rude to begin reading it.

 

“Your mother,” the Professor said, startling Harry, “how is she?”

 

“Fine?” Harry said, confused, “at least the last time I wrote.”

 

“Still living with muggles,” Professor Snape said, “I presume?”

 

“In the neighborhood,” Harry said, “our house has charms and things.”

 

“ _Charms and things_ ,” Professor Snape mocked, “how quaint.”

 

The professor then took out a scroll of parchment and begin making spidery notes all over it. Harry shuffled in his seat a bit until Professor Snape noticed him again.

 

“Read your book,” he snapped, “then you can go.”

 

Excitedly, Harry opened his book only to have his cheer immediately dampened. It was written in very, very old English in calligraphy style and so difficult to parse Harry though he'd need several dictionaries to get through the first page. He tried, valiantly, getting absolutely no-where until Professor Snape dismissed him.

 

It was almost Halloween, Harry's favourite time of year. The candy and the brisk Fall air were only two reasons, the other was that spider shaped things had become plentiful and it had always been lovely when Harry had been at home. A dearth of the little plastic beasts would always find their way into Ron's hair or his food, it was a great laugh though Neville never seemed to think so. Harry had recently learned a new spell; it was a variant on the bat-bogey hex, a spider-bogey and he couldn't wait to try it out. While skulking in the hallways looking for Ron he nearly ran into Neville as well when he wandered closer to Gryffindor tower.

 

“We've already got the name,” Ron said, “Flamel. But what he has to do with a rock and Dumbledore, I haven't a clue.”

 

“I don't know, exactly!” Neville insisted, “I only guessed. And that was because I heard Auror Potter talking about it.”

 

“It's got to be Snape trying to steal it,” Ron said, “who else could it be? You know what Hagrid had in his pocket! I bet the greasy git couldn't wait to get his hands on that.”

 

“He wouldn't!” Harry shouted.

 

“Oh, Harry!” Neville said, “I didn't see you.”

 

“Yeah,” Ron said, nastily, “How are you doing in the snake house?”

 

“I wasn't talking to you,” Harry said, “Professor Snape wouldn't steal anything from Hogwarts, Neville.”

 

“Why not?” Neville said.

 

“Because it would cost him his job,” Harry said.

 

Really, did he have to explain everything to them?

 

“Oh right,” Ron said, “as if he'd be real sore about not having to teach the lot of us.”

 

“He gets more than just students by being a professor,” Harry said, “he has tenure, professional acclaim. Publishing duties. Haven't either of you ever wondered what a professor's job actually is? It's a lot more than teaching, they have to produce research and work and keep up with all the latest innovations. Write books and things and-”

 

Neville and Ron had stopped talking and just stood staring at Harry as though he had said the most unbelievable thing they had ever heard.

 

“-well,” Harry said awkwardly, “he'd hardly have the time, would he?”

 

“I saw him,” Neville said, hesitantly, “coming back from the forbidden forest just the other night.”

 

That had been during one of Harry's lessons but he wasn't about to tell them anything about that.

 

“He was probably picking potion's ingredients,” Harry said, “he gets the third year Slytherins to help sometimes.”

 

It was at least partly true but everyone who made potions around Hogwarts knew the best ingredients and the safest appeared in the Forbidden Forest during springtime. Harry hedged his bets that Ron and Neville knew as much about potions ingredients as Harry knew about Professor McGonnagal's favourite tartan.

 

“There's something strange going on,” Neville said, “that doorway on the third floor-”

 

“Doorway?” Harry said.

 

“Oh um,” Neville looked at Ron who looked at him crossly.

 

“Don't tell him anything!” Ron said, “We don't know whose side he's on!”

 

“The sensible one,” Harry snapped, “anyway, what did my Dad say?”

 

Ron and Neville looked at one another as though they had just remembered that Harry had a green scarf around his neck and wasn't to be trusted.

 

“Never you mind,” Ron said, “we're going.”

 

“Wait,” Harry said, “I have something for you.”

 

As they both turned to look at Harry he cast his hex.

 

It caused quite a stir when half the Gryffindor stairwell was overflowing with bogey-coloured spiders. Harry of course, had fled quite quickly when things had begun to get out of control. He just barely dived behind a statue of Boris the Bewildered before Professor McGonnegal rounded on Ron and Neville who were suffering the effects of Harry's spell.

 

“Who did this?” she demanded.

 

Neville and Ron couldn't exactly answer without having their bogey-spiders fill up their mouths so they said nothing and wildly gesticulated in Harry's general direction. The professor may have gone looking for the perpetrator but a new wave of spiders burst from Neville's left nostril and began scuttling up the Professor's robes. She banished them with a flick of her wand and then began banishing as many of the spiders as she could. It wasn't exactly stopping the flow and the spiders were falling over the stairways now. Harry considered that maybe his spell was a bit much in close quarters even if the effects were very satisfying.

 

“Good gracious,” Professor McGonngegall said, “what a mess! Professor Flitwick! Get up here, I need your help!”

 

Harry didn't linger and scurried off to the lower levels, heading back towards his dungeon. As he entered the Slythering common room (password was parselmouth today) he wished he had taken a picture of all the spiders running out of Ron's nose.

 

“Where were you?” Malfoy demanded.

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “just said hello to Neville and Ron. With a new hex. Keep it on the low-down will you? It was a bit, well, strong this time. MacGonnagall was having a fit that her stairway was full of spiders.”

 

“You hexed him,” Nott said, “The Boy Who Lived?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “What of it?”

 

Nott laughed and Harry winced. Where had he learned to laugh like that in first-year? It was truly unhinged.

 

“A bit of a slag isn't he?” Nott said, “not exactly hero material.”

 

“He's the worst sort,” Malfoy said, “a real embarrassment to wizarding kind. If you're not busy hexing Gryffindors Potter, we're going to play quidditch. Or something like it, Flint is allowed to let us first years practice playing on brooms, which is how it would be anyway if this were a properly run school. Of course, he's scoping out for the team next year too. They'll need a new seeker. Want to try?”

 

“Not really,” Harry said, “but it's not as if I have anything better to do. As long as Flint isn't going to hex me-”

 

Nott said, “he won't. Besides, Malfoy invited you specially.”

 

The way Theodore Nott said it made Harry want to sick up on his shoes. As if he wanted anything special from Malfoy of all people but it wasn't as if he could be particularly choosy about his friends. At least not right now, hexing Weasleys only entertained him so much and he wasn't optimistic about spending most of his school days alone.

 

“I'll go then,” Harry said, “I suppose.”

 

“Good,” Nott said, “your complexion is all off. Being outdoors will do you some good.”

 

It was an odd comment as Nott was just as pale and wan as Harry had ever been but he let it slide. They would be on the pitch this afternoon before the feast and Harry was excited, he'd be on a broom.

 

Not long after charms, it was decided by Malfoy that they would head to the pitch. Shockingly, Crabbe and Goyle hadn't decided to come with and Malfoy and Nott were on their own with Harry. They gathered their brooms and made their way onto the deserted pitch.

 

“I asked my father for a new broom,” Malfoy bragged, “but he told me to wait until next year. The Nimbus 2000's will be nothing compared to the new Clean Sweeps. He was told all about the prototype last year and has even ridden one in person just this last month. Of course, the ordinary public won't so much as get a look at them until the Broomsticks trade fair.”

 

“I suppose you'll be a shoe-in for seeker,” Nott said, “Higgs will be leaving next year.”

 

“I would hope,” Malfoy said, “besides, Father has offered the team an incentive to consider me.”

 

It was no secret that Malfoy was an awful braggart with a predilection for distorting the truth but Harry had no doubt that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be above buying his son's way onto the team. It was awful rotten of him but Harry had to admit the Slytherin seeker was so terrible that they often had to resort to cheating just to get ahead and Malfoy would be an improvement no matter what his flying ability.

 

“What about you, Potter,” Nott said, “any hopes for a position?”

 

Harry wisely omitted that if he would play any position it would likely be seeker as he was the fastest and smallest of either of them.

 

“I'd play whatever they'd want me to,” Harry said, “if I have time. My Dad was a great quidditch player when he was at Hogwarts, I'd like to be one too.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Nott said, “I saw a plaque in the trophy room, _James Potter_ , it said. Seeker for Gryffindor. Better watch yourself Malfoy, he might be the better player.”

 

Malfoy gave Harry such a rotten look that he ducked his head down.

 

“I'm sure I won't be,” Harry mumbled.

 

“Rubbish,” Nott said.

 

Harry wondered if Nott was actually aware that his input often wasn't helping his cause.

 

Malfoy sniffed, “we'll see who the better seeker is, won't we Potter?”

“I suppose so,” Harry said.

 

When they made it onto the pitch, Flint was waiting for them along with other second-year hopefuls. Harry didn't know them very well, a Lestrange, an Avery and a Mulciber. Harry resolutely stared at his shoes hoping none of them would be provoked by his presence.

 

“I brought brooms,” Flint said, his crooked teeth white under the sun, “we're going to fly around the pitch chasing a snitch. If we're lucky, a bludgeor too.”

 

“Flint!” a girl's voice shouted, “I'm here too!”

 

“I told you Bulstrode,” Flint said, annoyed, “we don't need you on the team!”

 

“There are try-outs,” Millie said, “and I'm trying out.”

 

Millicent was no pixie, she was shorter than Flint but almost as wide. Her body was heavy but Harry had seen by example that it was no trouble for her to put a third year into a head lock and not let them up until it pleased her.

 

“She's a friend of mine,” Nott spoke up.

 

There was a staring match between Flint and Millicent until finally, Flint relented.

 

“Right then,” Flint said, “but no promises.”

 

Millicent beamed and joined the others on the pitch. Malfoy looked annoyed.

 

“There weren't any girls on the Slytherin team for a reason,” Malfoy said.

 

“What reason is that?” asked Harry.

 

“They can't keep up,” Malfoy said, “everyone knows boys are better players.”

 

“The Hollyhead Harpies do all right,” Harry reminded him, “against the men's teams.”

 

“Potter's got a point,” Nott giggled.

 

Malfoy glared at Nott, obviously irritated by his sudden comments against his interests.

 

“Everyone shut up,” Flint said, “get on your brooms. Snitch released at the count of three! One-Two-”

 

Harry got read to lift off, his heart pounding and hands sweaty from excitement.

 

“Three!”

 

They all shot up and for a little while Nott had the lead. Eventually he flagged and Malfoy took over, Harry hung back knowing well enough that until they had sight of the snitch it was best to preserve his energy.

 

“I'm flying circles around you Potter!” Malfoy said gleefully.

 

Harry waved with a smug grin. Let him stew on that, he thought. It had the right effect; now Malfoy thought Harry had something up his sleeve to give him the advantage. It was actually only summers at home with his Dad and Uncle Sirius teaching him everything they knew.

 

“It's the snitch!” a second-year screamed, then realized his mistake as everyone dived for it.

 

Harry looped around the opposite way. Against the glittering green pitch he could see the tiny gold ball hovering beautifully above it. A great throng of seeker hopefuls were surrounding it but Harry knew what a snitch would do in that situation. Sure enough as Malfoy was about to grab it, it fled upwards. Harry gave chase and zoomed alongside of it. When it went to dip low Harry barely noticed the dozen boys and one girl chasing after it. Harry dove and dove, so close to the grass he could almost feel it against his knees. For a split second Malfoy was right next to him and tried to bump his broom but Harry had been expecting it and bounced to the right. Malfoy spun and lost control for a minute but it was enough. Harry flew straight up from the ground and grabbed the snitch.

 

“I've got it!” he cried.

 

The feeling of triumph was something he hadn't felt since his sorting, nothing had ever felt so good before or after his miserable months in Slytherin.

 

“Was that a Wronski-feint?” Nott cried incredulously, “I think that was!”

 

“It wasn't a feint,” Malfoy snapped, “it was a nice little trick, that's all!”

 

“Don't be so sore,” Nott said, “I bet he can teach it to us. Can't you Harry?”

 

Harry turned to face his team mates and then noticed their faces changed from flushed excitement to troubled confusion.

 

“What's wrong with you lot?” Harry said, and then he felt it.

 

Touching his nose he noticed it came away red. Nott had run up to him by this point, grabbing his arm for support.

 

“Potter's got a bleeder!” someone shouted.

 

It might have been a bloody nose which wasn't unusual in dry winter air but when Harry felt the stab of pain down the side of his face he knew it wasn't.

 

“Ow,” Harry said, blinking against the sun that suddenly seemed extraordinarily bright.

 

Then he fell over.

 

Later that night in Slytherin, Harry Potter returned from the hospital wing to his cubby and sat on his bed, pressing his face to his knees to keep from crying.

 

“You're not dead,” Nott said, from his corner.

 

“No,” Harry said, “hoping for another bed?”

 

The curtains were pushed aside and Nott sat on the edge of Harry's bed in his pajamas. Harry thought it was actually pretty funny Nott had a pajama set that featured little white flobberworms on green but he wasn't in the mood to laugh at them.

 

“What happened in the hospital wing?” Nott asked.

 

It sounded like genuine curiosity and Harry was too miserable to care who knew about anything at this point.

 

“My Dad came,” Harry said, “had to break the news to me.”

 

“News?” Nott said.

 

“I can't play quidditch,” Harry said, “health reasons.”

 

A boy shaped figure shuffled on the other side of his curtains and Harry sighed.

 

“I can see you Malfoy,” Harry said, “might as well come over.”

 

From the gloomy shadows Malfoy appeared in his white shiny pajamas. Harry wondered if they were actually satin but thought any eleven-year-old boy favoring that would probably be barmy. They were still alarmingly shimmery for the dungeons and had a tendency to sparkle when Malfoy stood under the green lanterns before bed.

 

“Is it true?” Malfoy said, keeping his expression neutral.

 

“Yes,” Harry said bitterly.

 

“What happened,” Nott asked, “you went down, Flint got Pompfrey then they hauled you off and wouldn't tell us anything. You're not - _dying_ or anything, are you?”

 

Harry wanted to laugh. Nott had sounded so utterly depressed.

 

“No,” Harry said.

 

There wasn't any desire to explain himself but Harry knew there would only be more rumours in Slytherin if he didn't.

 

“It's nothing serious,” Harry said, “a bad reaction to being in the air for so long. Means quidditch is off. I can still practice once in a while though, if you'll have me.”

 

Malfoy made a good show about being miserable about it but Harry could tell he was secretly elated his only competition was out of the running.

 

“Of course,” Malfoy said, “besides, you've yet to teach me how you did that trick.”

 

“Wasn't a trick,” Nott said smugly, “it was a Wronski-feint I'm sure of it.”

 

Harry snorted, “It's something my Dad taught me. It's called an Angry Evans, he made it up to annoy my Mum when they were at Hogwarts.”

 

What he told his dorm-mates wasn't the whole story but it was enough. Harry recalled the rest, being fussed over by Madame Pompfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore who had spoken with Snape (it was clear that Flint must have fetched him to clear him of any purported wrongdoings). But it was the quick glance that had landed on Harry as he lay frustrated on the hospital bed wondering why no one told him what was going on that had caused him the most trouble.

 

It was only for a second but across Professor Snape's usually dour face something flickered that Harry had never wanted to see – pity. This was a man who could eviscerate rats without flinching in potion's class and conjure dark magic at will in the forbidden forest without care. Harry knew something was very wrong but he wasn't expecting to find out. Like his Mum and Dad they'd keep it from him, no matter how dire.

 

Possibly due to all the grim books he had been reading Harry considered all the numerous and horrible diseases he might have. Then he thought back to the conversation he'd had in the Headmaster's office. Perhaps he was dying, maybe he'd die the moment he left the hospital wing at night in his Slytherin dormitory. The thought made him dizzy, then feel sick and then back again to a strange kind of free fall. If he was going to die at any moment then nothing really mattered; not Malfoy or Flint or any of the older boy's teasing. He could theoretically do anything at all and have no consequences.

 

“You may leave now Mr. Potter,” Madame Pompfrey said, “your father is waiting for you in sickroom 2.”

 

The sickrooms were rooms with a single bed and some chairs. They were left as a historical memorial to bad Dragon pox epidemic that happened in the eighteenth century, even at Hogwarts a lot of children had died. There was an enormous golden plaque by each bed that had a list of names who were unfortunate enough to have passed away. He got dressed and went into the room where he saw his father nervously waiting in his auror robes. He felt a bit guilty as Pompfrey had obviously called him from work.

 

“Harry!” he said excitedly, then embraced him, “gave us all a scare. What were you doing out on the pitch?”

 

“An angry Evans,” Harry said.

 

“An angry-” James laughed, “I bet you gave those Slytherins what for.”

 

The green scarf hanging around Harry's neck caught his Dad's gaze.

 

“Sorry,” James said, sounding depressed, “you know what I meant.”

 

“Malfoy was really mad,” Harry said, trying to make up for it, “even tried to knock me off my broom but I got the snitch. He lost, should have seen the look on his face. All he did was brag for hours about how good he was on a broom but I was better.”

 

“Of course you were better,” James said, “you had Padfoot, Moony and Prongs showing you their tricks.”

 

Harry's father looked so proud and then so terribly sad, it was a shock to Harry who wondered what in the world had made him so upset. All the thoughts of dying and horrible plagues rose up unbidden in his head.

 

“I wanted to be the one to tell you,” James said, suddenly serious, “I wanted to deliver the news.”

 

Harry felt a terrible clenching in his chest.

 

“Am I,” Harry said, “dying?”

 

James looked perplexed.

 

“Who in the world put that idea in your head?” James said, “Was it Snivellus? Or that Mulciber boy, I remember his father he was a right piece of work that one.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, relieved, “it was um, some books I've been reading. Scary ones. It's actually been kind of okay in Slytherin. Now that the novelty has worn off.”

 

“Son of an auror,” James said, “I get it. You know, Slytherins aren't the only ones to act like that. When Sirius got into Gryffindor a lot of them remembered his family and they went after him too.”

 

“They were all in Slytherin,” Harry said, “I remember. Not very nice people.”

 

“No,” James said, “not very nice at all. And thankfully not all Slytherin are like them. But good gracious you're not in any trouble, or dying thank goodness. But there is one thing I have to tell you.”

 

James took a deep breath as though it pained him greatly. Harry braced himself for the worst.

 

“You can't play quidditch on the team,” James said in a rush, as though it was excruciating to say, “it's something to do with the speed through the air and the colds you had when you were young, not that you probably remember any of that. It's done something to your nose. Well, Poppey tried to explain it to me but I didn't quite understand all the details. Remus can probably explain it better. Basically what it comes down to is-”

 

And James took a shuddering breath, while Harry let his out slowly.

 

“It'll make you very unwell if you stay in the air too long. A short game here and there won't ever hurt anyone. But that kind of regular practice puts on a strain and the symptoms will flair up again and you'll be right back where you started. In the hospital wing and your Mum will march down here and shout at anyone who convinced you otherwise which is very much not on for a boy at your age.”

 

Harry scrunched up his face, horrified at the image of his Mum yelling at Flint or Professor Snape. The whole Scottish countryside would have been able to hear Malfoy laughing at him along with Crabbe and Goyle for miles.

 

“Right,” James said with a laugh, “it would be a terrible scene.”

 

After his dorm-mates had left Harry laid in his bed in Slytherin common room and fretted. Despite all of the assurances from his Dad before he left to go back to work, Harry thought about the look Professor Snape had given him and wondered. Briefly Harry considered that if something dire were happening to him that Professor Snape might take revenge by not telling his Dad anything about it. But then his common sense came back and he realized that wouldn't be on with Headmaster Dumbledore and the Professor's career at stake. Perhaps the strange look Professor Snape had given Harry had been about something else entirely. But as the darkness around Harry's bed closed in on him his mind became alight with various horrible scenarios. There was something wrong with him, he just knew it. And it was the same at Hogwarts as it had been at home, people knew things and didn't bother telling him about it because it might upset him. Fists clenched in the bed sheets Harry closed his eyes and imagined dying. When that didn't work he tried holding his breath instead. Foolishly, he'd let go after only a few seconds because it terrified him. Blinking in the blackness he almost wanted to ask a ghost what it was like but thought that might be rude. He'd find out anyway because someday, very soon, his time would be up and nothing would be able to stop it.

 

“I wouldn't worry about quidditch,” Nott said at breakfast, “it isn't the end of the world. Besides, being personally tutored in the dark arts is much more impressive.”

 

“Stop saying that,” Harry pleaded, “if someone hears you and thinks it's true-”

 

That morning Harry's mood had hovered between despairing and grim in the dorm and had settled on a bleak depression by breakfast time. With Nott hovering around him all morning reeking emphatically of old books it had been difficult to work up an appetite at all and Harry was picking at his food with little interest.

 

“I'm just saying,” Nott said, “make yourself useful and other Slytherins won't bang on about half-bloods and mudbloods and all that rubbish.”

 

“Useful!” Harry said, angrily, “I'm not going out of my way to be useful to a bunch of-”

 

The teacher's table shuffled as Professor Snape stormed in late, his robes flapping behind him and his stride markedly affected by an emphatic limp.

 

“Something's wrong with him,” Harry said, curious.

 

“What? Oh, he seemed to have gotten his leg bit or something,” Nott said, “probably went into the Forbidden Forest for potion's ingredients.”

 

“Not much there until Spring,” Harry said, recalling his previous conversation with Neville, “certainly not worth a chomp on the leg.”

 

It was odd but Harry didn't give it much thought at all until double potion's class had ended and the Gryffindors and Slytherins were filing out of the classroom.

 

“How are you feeling Professor?” Malfoy's syrupy voice assaulted Harry's ears.

 

“Fine,” Professor Snape said, “thank-you, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

It was another blissful day without incident, since his accident on the pitch most of Slytherin had gone back to ignoring him again. Harry gathered his books and waited for Nott to put away his cauldron by the door. Just then Ron and Neville came by, whispering to one another as they left.

 

“I told you it was him!” Ron exclaimed a little louder than he should have.

 

“Shh!” Neville hissed, “Did Hermione tell you what I saw, why would he try to steal the philosopher's stone?”

 

“Why not, the greasy git,” mumbled Ron.

 

Harry looked back at Nott who was putting away a cauldron. He nodded at Nott, then twitched his head towards Ron and Neville. Nott nodded back and Harry hoped he got the message. Harry quietly slipped out behind Neville and Ron, they were so oblivious to everything around them but their conversation they hardly noticed anyone else.

 

“What I don't understand is the connection with Hagrid,” Neville said, “he spilled half the story without meaning to.”

 

“It's Hagrid,” Ron said, “he's not the best at keeping secrets, is he? Maybe he went and got it from the vault. It would explain why he was there the same time you were that day and avoided saying hello.”

 

“Never thought of that,” Neville said, “it all makes sense. Professor Snape tries to steal the stone, Quirrel tries to protect it and-”

 

“I told you, Professor Snape wouldn't steal anything,” Harry piped up.

 

“Who asked you?” Ron exploded.

 

“What were you doing?” Neville demanded, face flushed, “following us all the way to our common room?”

 

“It would be your fault if you didn't notice me right behind you,” Harry said, “what kind of secret spies are you if you can't even figure that out?”

 

The portraits watched them curiously, probably wondering what a Slytherin was doing so far from home.

 

“We're not spying,” Ron said, outraged, “on anyone! We're not in silver and green now, are we?”

 

“Good thing too,” Harry said, “you'd be rubbish at it. But I meant what I said. Whatever you think he's done, it's not on. Quirrel's the one to look at, he's barmy.”

 

“What do you mean?” Neville said.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, with a smug smile, “best be off.”

 

Neville and Ron looked at one another in abject confusion. It was extremely fun to watch them attempt to figure something out as both had half a brain between them.

 

“Oh, um, Harry,” Neville said.

 

“What?” Harry said.

 

Neville looked to Ron who had crossed his arms over his chest and puffed himself up with a sour look on his face to appear threatening. It made him look a bit like his Mum, Harry was amused to note.

 

“Oh erm,” Neville stuttered, “nothing. I'll um, see you later.”

 

“Whatever Nev,” Harry said.

 

“Don't call him that!”

 

“ _Ron!”_

 

Satisfied that he had brought a little chaos into their lives, Harry trotted off to meet his friends in the dungeons. The Halloween feast was tonight and Harry couldn't wait for it.

 

“Harry!” Hermione called.

 

She must have been just released from Charms, Harry sidled up to her ignoring the rotten looks he was getting from the rest of the Ravenclaw first-years.

 

“Are you still hanging about with Neville and Ron?” Harry asked her.

 

“Sort of,” she said, “well, you know how it is in Ravenclaw.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, “it's just that, they have some barmy ideas about Professor Snape and-”

 

“Oh Harry,” Hermione said, “you have to admit, it's all very suspicious! Well, I'm not really supposed to talk about it but-”

 

“I know all about the stone, Neville accidentally told me,” Harry lied, “so, what's this about the Professor? Whatever it is, I'm sure Neville's got it all backwards.”

 

“Well,” Hermione said, “we're not sure exactly what that stone is for yet but we do know it's guarded by an enormous three headed dog on the forbidden floor.”

 

“Really?” Harry said, excitedly, “is it a Cerberus? I bet it's one!”

 

“We ran in there by mistake,” Hermione said, “I caught Neville and Ron out of bed when I remembered I had forgotten something in the library.”

 

There was something to this story, Harry wondered what she had actually been out of bed for. Hermione was a rubbish liar, her face went all pink and her eyes darted everywhere but where they should be looking.

 

“Anyway, Mr. Filch was after us so we practically flew behind the first door we could get to and that's when we noticed there was this – huge dog. What did you call it? A Cerberus? That makes sense considering the Greek legends. Anyway, we left shortly after that but not before noticing a trap door-”

 

“So that's where the stone is?” Harry said, curious.

 

He was a little bit jealous Hermione was having so many night time adventures while he was stuck in the dungeons trying to sleep even when he couldn't.

 

“I don't know,” Hermione said, with a twist to her mouth, “but it is very strange that Professor Snape has an injury that looks like a dog bite. Neville saw Filch helping the Professor when he got detention for being out of bed.”

 

“It can't be him,” Harry said, “he wouldn't do anything like that.”

 

“Are you really sure?” Hermione said.

 

“I don't know,” Harry said, “But I know that a Slytherin wouldn't mess up their ambitions.”

 

“Unless something better came along,” Hermione said, “Oh, I'm sorry Harry. I didn't mean it.”

 

Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

 

“You-Know-Who, you mean?” he said, bitterly.

 

“That's not what I meant,” Hermione said, “Harry, will you sit with me at the Halloween feast? I'm on the end, no one else sits there. If you want I'll sit with you at the Slytherin table.”

 

“No, um,” Harry said, “that's okay! That would be brilliant actually.”

 

For one evening Harry would get to pretend he'd actually been sorted properly.

 

“Oi! Hermione!” Ron called, “over here!”

 

Harry glared at him, he must have been looking for her all over.

 

“I've got to go. Be careful, Harry,” Hermione said apologetically, “And I'll see you tomorrow night.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, and miserably watched her go off with Ron.

 

It was strange because while Harry wouldn't have called Hermione a close friend quite yet, he felt oddly like a rift was growing between them. Harry clenched his fists, Ron and Neville were certainly putting strange ideas in her head.

 

“You're sitting next to me,” Nott said in the common room, “at the feast.”

 

The Slytherin common room was filled with students getting reading for the long anticipated Halloween feast, everyone couldn't wait to see what the Headmaster had cooked up this year. There had been a persistent rumour concerning an animated skeleton juggling troupe though Harry had heard Parkinson saying that the rumour the year prior had been a band instead. Whether the skeletons were present or not, the treats and fabulous scares on display were sure to be exciting. Everyone was in a good mood, except of course Harry who couldn't stop thinking about Ravenclaw table and how much he wouldn't want to leave after sitting down.

 

“Not on,” Harry said, “Hermione invited me to sit at her table.”

 

“Come on Potter,” Nott said, “besides, I heard Hermione talking about you with that Weasley character. He went on about how you lot weren't to be trusted and all that rubbish and then she had a mind to agree with him.”

 

Harry stopped fixing his tie and stared blankly at the green lantern wobbling in front of him as it slowly blurred.

 

“That's- you made that up. Hermione wouldn't,” Harry said.

 

But he wasn't really sure, having seen her scarper off with him earlier that day.

 

“All your real friends are in Slytherin, Potter,” Nott said, clapping him on the shoulder, “no getting around house loyalties best get used to it.”

 

“Stuff it Nott,” Malfoy said, swanning in.

 

“I don't care,” Harry said, his hands shaking, “he can say whatever rot he likes.”

 

Harry slammed his books down on the table in the corner and screamed his frustration between his teeth startling his two dorm-mates.

 

“If you weren't all so horrible,” Harry said, “then I wouldn't have to! I'd actually have friends that gave a toss, isn't that right Nott! Instead I've got nothing to myself, just this stupid green and silver scarf that makes my Dad want to throw up even looking at it! At least if I were on the team he'd -”

 

Harry panted and realized quite a few of the other Slytherins were looking at him and his cheeks reddened from embarrassment.

 

“Very dramatic,” Malfoy drawled, “if you're done throwing a hissy fit, there's a feast to go to. At the Slytherin table, where you belong. Isn't that right, Nott?”

 

Harry blew past the both of them hurrying to escape, he thought he felt Nott try and reach out and grab him as he went by.

 

“Leave me alone!” he shrieked.

 

“What a weird first-year,” he heard giggled behind him.

 

“Is he ok?” Harry thought he heard Millicent next but the voices vanished as he fled down the dungeon hallways to the first boy's bathroom he could find that wasn't in any way attached to his house.

 

There was a grim, dark loo where no one seemed to use and there he settled in one of the stalls with his head pressed to his knees and cried uncontrollably. That was the problem he thought miserably, once the tears started he couldn't stop them. He felt all kinds of terrible things and every worry he'd thought that year came back with a vengeance. He was focused so hard on his misery that he hadn't heard the excitement in the hallways or the prefects scurrying frantically through the dungeons trying to find the missing first-year, the one Professor Snape was so cross about them losing.

 

Harry lifted his head from his knees when he heard an enormous crash and a disgusting smell wafted in from the doorway. He peeked out of his stall and promptly ducked back in.

 

It was a troll. An enormous cave troll that had come from who knows where and wandered into the Slytherin bathrooms. Harry took out his wand. He knew an awful lot of spells but none specific to trolls. He supposed he could light something on fire they didn't like that much but-

 

“In here!” Harry heard voices.

 

“How dare you say such a thing!” Hermione's voice hissed, “That's cruel Theodore, you know he's sensitive!”

 

“He gets bent out of shape,” Neville's voice offered, “better to say nothing then at least he can't bother to shout.”

 

“Who knows what he said first,” Ron offered, “he can be right nasty when he wants to.”

 

“Hush up,” Hermione hissed to them, “it's right here!”

 

“A sodding cave troll!” Ron's voice burst out.

 

“Thanks Weasel,” Nott whispered, “I think it knows we're here now.”

 

The troll could be heard from Harry's toilet stall lumbering towards the door. Harry wasn't sure why they had all come to find him but he knew that if he wanted to help he'd have to open the door.

 

“I'm over here!” Harry said.

 

The troll lumbered towards him and let out an enormous growl. Considering how much Harry had recently thought about facing certain death, he felt a lot braver than probably healthy.

 

“Nott I'm going to distract him while you cast a levitation spell on a toilet!” Harry shouted, “Hermione, Ron and Neville help him!”

 

Neville and Ron looked at one another but quickly ran to the other side of the bathroom to help Hermione.

 

“All right then,” Harry said, “you great lout, this way!”

 

The troll shambled towards Harry with its club at the ready, after only a few steps it roared and smashed the stalls behind him. Harry had ducked down just in time, his heart beating and his own gasps loud in his ears.

 

“Nott!” Harry cried, “Get that toilet up!”

 

“It's up!” Nott cried.

 

Three eleven-year old wizards still had a difficult time keeping a toilet hovering above an enormous cave troll but they managed, even though it wobbled dangerously several times.

 

“All right,” Harry said, “Now wait for me to get his attention, then drop it!”

 

They had only a few moments to do it properly and if they missed – Harry would rather not think about the implications. He ran as fast as he could in the small space and darted between the troll's legs as it struggled to grab hold of him. Finally, the troll went for Harry and nearly had its disgusting first around his legs but then the toilet came crashing down on its head exploding into a million pieces. The troll shook its head and recovered its footing. Harry stumbled backwards, maybe it hadn't been enough. But then the troll gave a mighty growl and fell over the club landing on its stomach.

 

“I think,” Harry said breathless, “that we made it.”

 

“That was brilliant,” Nott said, “that was the best thing I've ever seen!”

 

“Oh, do be quiet!” Hermione snapped, “Harry are you okay? I was so worried about you!”

 

She flung herself towards him and clung to Harry as hard as she could.

 

“I'm ok,” Harry said.

 

“Best get out of here,” Neville said nervously, “Before-”

 

“What are you doing in here?” Professor McGonagall's voice shouted at them, “I've been looking all over for the five of you! Good gracious, Mr. Potter are you all right? You've been missing for hours!”

 

“Um,” Harry said.

 

He wasn't looking forward to explaining why he had been in the bathroom in the first place.

 

“Oh,” Nott said, “don't worry about us. I thought it would be great fun to try some magic on a real live cave troll.”

 

Hermione glanced quickly between them and darted over to Nott's side.

 

“You see, we have a study group,” Hermione explained quickly, “and well, we were going to try some things and thought why not but well -”

 

“They tried to stop us,” Harry said, nodding at Ron and Neville, “but they gave us all a hand when it got to be too much.”

 

Hermione and Nott looked at the ground as though they were a bit ashamed, it was spoiled slightly by Nott's frantically twitching mouth that kept turning up into a smile.

 

“Ten points from Slytherin!” Professor McGonnegall said, “And five each from Gryffindor for shear suicidal stupidity! You could have lost your heads! Broken your necks! Good gracious, I've never seen the like! Out, out! All of you, back to your dorms for head check!”

 

Hermione's shoulders slackened, she was lucky she hadn't lost any points. Or perhaps the Professor had simply not noticed her scarf wasn't red or green but blue and bronze instead. The five were dispersed to their common rooms and Harry watched longingly as Hermione went towards Ravenclaw tower instead of the dungeon.

 

“That was mad,” Nott said, as they returned to their dorm, “let's do it again sometime!”

 

“Nott,” Harry hissed, “don't you dare.”

 

“Are you all right?” Millie had practically run all the way from the girl's dorm to see them.

 

“Fine,” Harry said.

 

“It was brilliant,” Nott said, “Harry went on about 'do this Nott, and do that Hermione and that over there you Gryffindor clots' and we levitated a toilet seat and it totally demolished that troll!”

 

“It's just knocked out I think,” Harry said tiredly.

 

“First name basis with Nott,” Harry heard whispered by Blaise, “quite an accomplishment for a Potter.”

 

A few stray giggles from the other side of the room were heard and Harry staunchly ignored them.

 

“You could have been killed,” Millie said sharply, “the Professor's would have handled it, next time go get one!”

 

“As if,” Nott said, “that one was hiding in the bathroom for ages. No one bothers to go there, it's the one next to Moaning Myrtle's. He'd have been there until the troll set up house.”

 

“Potter!” Professor Snape shouted.

 

Harry couldn't help it, he flinched.

 

“My office,” Professor Snape said, “right now!”

 

After the Professor stormed off, a few students snickered.

 

“Uh-oh,” Millie said, “looks angry.”

 

“About the points probably,” Nott said, “don't worry Potter, if you were really in for it he'd just send your parents an owl and you'd find out the next day when your things were packed.”

 

“Thanks for that,” Harry said.

 

With great apprehension Harry made his way to the Professor's office. He was dead tired after all that excitement and wasn't sure what he'd be in for but he hoped he could hold out from falling asleep in the middle of a lecture. The door had barely closed behind him before Professor Snape was shouting.

 

“What were you thinking!” Professor Snape began, “Looking for glory? Attempting to put those years of having red and gold dripped into your years to good use? Bravery is for fools, Potter!”

 

“I wasn't thinking,” Harry offered, “I had to be alone for a while.”

 

“Lies!” Professor Snape hissed, “Professor McGonnegall was kind enough to tell me about your monumental stupidity and that bushy haired ring leader from Ravenclaw. Do you think Nott would have protected you if the troll had taken a liking to smashing your head in? Would Neville have come to your rescue, the great dunderhead we both know he is? And Weasley can hardly look at you without wanting to smash your face in! Not acceptable, Potter! Untenable risk!”

 

“I wasn't risking anything,” Harry said tiredly, “But Nott lied for me and Hermione because he thinks he's my friend. He made up some story that we were trying to prove something but I wasn't when I was only crying in the bathroom because _I hate it here!_ ”

 

Shocked at his own admonition Harry waited for the inevitable dressing down but it never came. He did however have to staunch another hiccuped sob that exploded from his chest. He clamped his hands over his face until they abated and then sat miserable in a chair trying to vanish into the seat from embarrassment.

 

Quite a few minutes passed as Harry veered between wanting to fall asleep or to sick up on Professor Snape's desk just so he could escape the situation with his pride intact.

 

“It's hard,” Professor Snape said quietly, “if you're not used to it.”

 

Harry blinked and looked up.

 

“Slytherin,” the professor continued, “I don't know how much help Nott will be. Do you understand why?”

 

“Something to do with my Dad,” Harry said.

 

“Yes,” Professor Snape said, “I'm not _friends_ with your parents.”

 

“I know that,” Harry said.

 

“Your mother and I were at one time,” Professor Snape said, it was as though he were pulling teeth but it spilled from his mouth all the same.

 

There was a lot about that story Harry wondered about but he wisely kept his mouth shut. The Professor narrowed his eyes at him.

 

“I would take my advice,” Professor Snape said, “Keep to yourself as much as you can, your skills are considerable beyond quidditch, no matter what anyone thinks. In Slytherin, it's not the friends you keep but the company. Understand?”

 

It was almost a pep talk, almost. It left Harry feeling more rattled than if he had been shouted at.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“You may leave,” Professor Snape said.

 

Harry quickly fled.

 

For all the excitement during Halloween, most of November was quite calm. Quidditch was still a big event and while Harry wasn't thrilled about watching a game he was missing out on, he would at least get to see Slytherin clobber the Gryffindor quidditch team which he was sure would be worth a laugh. Nott practically assailed him when he got to the stands. He had saved him a spot beside Malfoy and everything.

 

“Have you heard?” Nott said.

 

“Shut up,” Malfoy snapped at him, “it's not even newsworthy.”

 

It was pretty clear Malfoy wasn't telling Nott to keep his mouth shut for Harry's benefit, something had him very peeved.

 

“What's happened?” Harry said.

 

“Neville, a first-year made it onto the Gryffindor team. They must be hard up for seekers that's all I can say, a great lump like that zooming around on a broom?”

 

“Neville,” Harry said, “he's the new seeker for Gryffindor?”

 

“First few minutes in the air I bet he'll fall off his broom,” Malfoy said.

 

“If he's a seeker then,” Harry sputtered, “Malfoy should be a seeker too! It's not fair!”

 

“It's favoritism,” Malfoy said, “pure and simple.”

 

It went without comment that Malfoy had benefited from favoritism more often than Harry could even count but that wasn't the point.

 

“I can't watch this,” Harry said.

 

“Sit down,” Nott said, “besides, don't you want to watch him make a complete fool of himself?”

 

Harry begrudgingly sat down in the stands again, Nott had a point. Last time Harry had seen Neville flying he'd been bitten by his own Remembrall and before that he'd nearly taken off his own head by losing control of the broom. It was Harry's Uncle Sirius who had cut him out of the tree he'd jammed himself into and the time before that Neville had barely been able to stay mounted.

 

The teams were readied and Harry bitterly watched as Neville got onto his broom. A little twinge of pity escaped when Harry noticed Neville was shaking with fear before the game began. The players shot off like rockets and Neville made good time into the game. Harry watched him carefully and recognized some of the moves his Dad had taught him. With a terrible sick feeling Harry noted that Neville was actually, well, good. Very good. Not as good as him, not as good as his Dad but extremely solid as a badly needed Gryffindor seeker. The Slytherins were struggling to keep up since Gryffindor had a full team now, even with all the tricks Professor Snape had encouraged them to use.

 

“It's not fair you're benched Potter,” Nott said, “you'd fly rings around him.”

 

“Not helping,” Harry bit out.

 

Terrence Higgs could try all he liked, he wasn't as small as an eleven-year old and not nearly as good. It didn't take Lee Jordan's annoying commentary to tell Harry that the game was just about over before it had even begun.

 

“I can't watch this,” Harry said again, “we're getting clobbered!”

 

“Look!” Nott said, delighted, “Neville's nearly off his broom!”

 

Harry's gaze darted towards Neville who seemed to be having an enormous amount of difficulty staying put. There was something strange about the way it bounced, it wasn't Neville who was having the trouble. Someone was likely hexing him.

 

“He's going to break his neck,” Harry said, “if he doesn't get it under control soon.”

 

“Good,” Malfoy spat, “ought to. He deserves it.”

 

In the teacher's stands from the corner of his eye Harry noticed Professor Snape suddenly stand up and begin chanting.

 

“Counter-curse,” Harry muttered.

 

Quickly Harry looked around wondering who in the world could be casting a spell like that wordlessly when he caught Quirrel intently looking at Neville. Harry frowned, he knew it. Something was odd about that one. At that very moment, Quirrel jumped up in alarm as well as Professor Snape because something was smoking at their feet. Harry swore he saw a head of bushy hair receding further into the stands but he didn't have his binoculars to tell.

 

“Very strange,” Harry said.

 

“He's righted himself,” Nott said, disappointed.

 

“Maybe next time he'll break his neck,” Malfoy said cheerfully.

 

“Dunno,” Harry said, distractedly.

 

That evening when Harry went to Professor Snape's office for his dark arts training he asked the Professor about Quirrel.

 

“I, um,” Harry began, “saw something odd in the stands today.”

 

“Neville is seeker because of a special dispensation from the Headmaster,” Professor Snape snarled, “nothing I could do Potter and I know it's not fair but that's hardly the way things work here, is it? If I could manage it your little friend Malfoy would be on the team as well.”

 

“Malfoy's not my friend!” Harry said, sharply.

 

“Take whatever he offers you, Potter,” Professor Snape said, “trust me, Lucius enjoys moving mountains as a personal hobby. You might benefit from it one day-if you can play your cards right with his son.”

 

“I'm not,” Harry said, “really into that stuff. House politics and all that.”

 

From his desk Snape rose like a gargantuan vampire bat and Harry gripped the edge of his chair.

 

“Whatever Gryffindor nonsense you've had stuffed into your head for the last eleven years doesn't pass muster here,” Snape said, “ Your father can't help you Potter, Slytherin has _standards!_ ”

 

“Right,” Harry said, curious what exactly those standards were as it seemed there was an awful lot of cheating going on anyway, “but that's, um not what I was asking about. It's about Quirrel.”

 

“Professor Quirrel,” Snape corrected.

 

“There's something,” Harry took a deep breath, “when he asked to see me after class there was something very...odd about him.”

 

Snape narrowed his gaze.

 

“Continue,” the Professor said.

 

“It was like,” Harry said, “look, I know this is going to sound barmy. I saw another face behind his face, it was looking at me. It was strange. And he smells very odd, like a bad spell gone off or something. Neville and Ron kept going on about a stone I heard them talking after potions, they thought you were after it but I tried to tell them, Professor Quirrel is – well, I don't know sir. But something's not right and I'm sure I saw him hexing Neville's broom today.”

 

Professor Snape's mouth opened as though he were about to say something then snapped shut. His crooked teeth were clenched to the near breaking point. He rounded on Harry with his robes flapping, which was always an intimidating experience no matter how often it happened to him. Harry winced.

 

“I commend you Potter,” Snape hissed, “and I know that your father and his friends always encouraged daft heroics but leave this to the Headmaster and myself to deal with. If I catch you on the third floor you'll be suspended without a second thought. If I catch you attempting some vainglorious Gryffindor antics worthy of your godfather and his little friend's most insidious schemes detention will be the least of you worries, do I make myself clear?”

 

Harry dumbly nodded his head. It seemed a bit of an overreaction, it wasn't as if he went looking for trouble all the time.

 

“And Potter,” Professor Snape said, “if Professor Quirrel wishes to see you alone for any reason at all, you're to make some excuse that you can't. If you absolutely can't get out of it, use detention, our meetings, anything as an excuse and I'll back you up until he leaves it alone.”

 

“So he's actually -dangerous?” Harry said tremulously.

 

“Use your head Potter,” Professor Snape said, “to the forest tonight for more practical experimentation.”

 

Without another word Professor Snape stormed out leaving Harry with more questions than he had begun with. He quickly followed wondering how he would ever keep his mind on his lessons.

 

It did prove one thing – Professor Quirrel was in fact dangerous and Neville was in very deep trouble. Harry wasn't entirely sure what was going on but Hermione might be able to help him find out.

 


	10. The Two-Faced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of rushed this chapter so sorry if there are any typos, I'll try to fix them later. With this chapter first year is officially finished! Hooray!
> 
> After reading some 'dark Harry' fanfics I came to the conclusion this story has loads of that kind of stuff in it so I tagged it as such.

**The Two-Faced**

 

The library was crowded the day Harry met with Nott and Hermione for study group but like everything else at Hogwarts there were distinctions between the tables. The Gryffindors crowded around the front, the Slytherin at the back and everyone else scattered throughout the middle. Harry had chosen a prime table at the very back near the restricted section so they could have some privacy in their conversations. It was also a table less likely to be taken over by third years as it was a bit too close to the archives, a section many Professors enjoyed frequenting for magical journals.

 

“All we have is a name,” Hermione said, “Nicholas Flamel. And an object, a magical stone. There's nothing in the library about a relationship between the two.”

 

“Has Neville not mentioned anything else?” Harry asked.

 

It was bothering him that the name Nicholas Flamel sounded familiar, as though he had read about it before.

 

“I suppose I could check the reading material from my extra classes,” Harry said, “but if it's anything at all pleasant I can promise you it won't be in any of them.”

 

“What is he getting you to read exactly,” Hermione said in a low voice, “are you okay with studying such awful things all the time?”

 

“It's not so bad most of the time,” Harry said, “but the ones with pictures are a little much. It's not as though he's giving me anything the Headmaster wouldn't approve of either.”

 

“I suppose,” Hermione said, “if you don't mind, check your books when you can and send me an owl if you find anything. That way it'll seem less suspicious.”

 

It was good advice since lately Harry had been under Professor Snape's watchful eye. It wasn't enough he had extra lessons, when wandering around Hogwarts he'd incidentally notice that the Professor had been prowling that hallway that particular day or worse yet, had noticed his lateness to charms. It was very odd. He wondered if Neville was under the same scrutiny from Professor McGonagall after the incident with the troll.

 

“Sorry I'm late,” Nott blustered in slamming some very large, very creepy looking books on the table, “I was held up by Crabbe and Goyle.”

 

“What for?” Harry said.

 

“Their fathers are getting desperate. Wanted me to be their tutor,” Nott said, “As if I would! Can you imagine?”

 

“Ugh,” Harry said, “fate worse than death.”

 

“I know,” Nott said with a beleaguered sigh.

 

“They can't be that-” Hermione searched for an appropriate word.

 

“Thick,” Harry supplied, “and they are, trust me.”

 

“They are in Slytherin house,” Hermione said, “I thought cunning was a primary attribute.”

 

“So is pure-blooded, parseltongue and achievement oriented but that kicks just about everyone but ten people out, so it's not all accurate,” Nott said.

 

“Can anyone in Slytherin actually speak parseltongue?” Hermione asked.

 

“Not that I know of,” Harry said, “I'd love to learn it but to be really good you've got to go pretty far East. Loads of wizards can do it there, in Britain it's almost unheard of.”

 

“A bunch of weirdos in a shack could,” Nott said, “my Father mentioned it. Gout or Gaunt or something, never heard of them at Hogwarts. He went looking for parseltongues when he was younger, said he'd never found one that wasn't from Arabia.”

 

“That's called the Arabian Peninsula technically,” Hermione said primly, “it's only a small part of the middle-east.”

 

“Whatever,” Nott said, “Harry, did you bring your books? We can trade.”

 

“What are these,” Hermione said, flipping over Nott's tomes, “dark arts?”

 

Nott snorted, “I wish. Magical creatures. Harry here, has an interest. I also got one sent from home my Dad gave to me as a child all about magical drawing.”

 

“Oh great,” Harry said, “thanks Nott.”

 

From his satchel Harry took out a few nasty books he had found in his family's vault that his Uncle Remus had been kind enough to send him.

 

“Don't look like that Hermione,” Harry said, “there's nothing truly terrible in there. It's mostly old wizarding legends.”

 

“A load of rubbish mostly,” Nott said, grabbing at the books greedily, “with really great pictures of decapitations and melted heads.”

 

“That's still horrible,” Hermione said, “I've been reading about more cheerful things, like arithmancy and magical theory.”

 

“Those are good too,” Harry said.

 

“Come on,” Nott said, “you know why we're both here.”

 

“Theodore!” Hermioned reprimanded.

“Oh come on, Miss Granger,” Nott said, he said it just to annoy her and most times it worked, “you want to know too. What's it like being tutored by Professor Snape?”

 

Though Hermione was trying to hide it, her expression was almost as eager as Nott's and they both leaned forward to listen to what he had to say. Harry kept his voice to a whisper well aware not every listener could be clearly seen; Professor Snape's paranoia was well founded.

 

“It's mad but brilliant,” Harry said, “it's all very simple stuff because I'm just beginning.”

 

“Course it isn't,” Nott said, “have you been peeling the skin off rats? Exploding preserved heads?”

 

“Theodore!” Hermione hissed.

 

“Of course not,” Harry said, “but I've been conjuring bats that make people afraid and casting fire that's blue and won't go out even if you throw water on it. It lights up everything and if you touch it, it's wicked painful but it doesn't burn it just stays there.”

 

“Ghost lights,” Hermione said, “that's what muggles call them.”

 

“It's a real spell,” Harry said.

 

“Of course it's real,” Nott said, eagerly, “what else?”

 

“That's all,” Harry said, “and a load of theory but it's not that interesting. Most of the books are about the dark arts history and things like that. Ethical implications, the sort of thing that says Headmaster Dumbledore all over it.”

 

“He's a great wizard Harry,” Hermione said.

 

“I know he is,” Harry said, “but it's hard to think about the moral implications of the dark arts when mad amounts of bats are flapping around scaring the life out of you.”

 

Nott snickered.

 

“It sounds fascinating,” Hermione said, “if a bit scary. Be careful with what he's teaching you, Professor Snape has never been known for his ethics.”

 

“I'm fine,” Harry said, exasperated, “what's the worst I could do? Give someone a blue rash? Scare them half to death with bats? It's not as if I can even cast them every time yet.”

 

“Dark arts goes further than that,” Nott said, excitedly, “wait until you get to the real stuff. I've seen it, it's brilliant.”

 

Hermione pursed her lips.

 

“It isn't,” Hermione snapped, “with great power comes great responsibility.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, “I saw that movie too Hermione. And I'm fine! I won't do anything rash or use it on Neville as much as I'd like to.”

 

“I don't know what you two have against Neville,” Hermione said, “except that Harry's still sore about something or other.”

 

“I have every reason to find him annoying,” Harry insisted, “do you know how many summers I had to spend with him? My Dad gets called on all the time to deal with his messes because his Gran doesn't want to bother with a grandson who can barely get on a broom.”

 

“He did fine on the pitch,” Hermione tetchily reminded him, “Gryffindor won.”

 

“Yeah well,” Harry snapped, “won't be like that forever. Malfoy will definitely be seeker next year and we'll have a fighting chance.”

 

“Here, here,” Nott said.

 

“I don't understand you sometimes Harry,” Hermione said, swiping up her books, “I like you, I really do. But you're so-”

 

“Full of himself,” Ron said behind them.

 

Nott jumped up from the table but Harry yanked him by his robe and hauled him back down.

 

“Not worth it,” Harry said, “we're in a library and it'll be our loss if we're kicked out.”

 

“Come on Hermione,” Ron said, “Neville's got something on the- the thing. With the stuff.”

 

“Great,” Hermione said, sighing, “that was very subtle.”

 

“Subtle as a brick wall,” Harry muttered.

 

They spent a minute or two sharing glares until Hermione had packed her books and left with Ron.

 

“Should have let me deal with the Weasel,” Nott said, “I have a dark arts hex with his name on it.”

 

“And get yourself expelled,” Harry said, “lovely. Get right on that Nott.”

 

“It's Theodore you know,” Nott said.

 

Harry heaved a sigh, “I know. You know they make fun of you for calling me Harry?”

 

“So,” Nott said, “like it matters?”

 

“Guess it doesn't,” Harry said, hesitantly, “Theo.”

 

He smirked when Theodore scrunched up his face.

 

During Christmas Harry spent a very uncomfortable few weeks at home suffering from a very bad cold. When he returned to Hogwarts he had with him an entire St. Mungo's Prescription Potion Kit to take until it ran out so his nasal infection wouldn't come back. He set it up on his bedside table and stood back looking at it with some frustration, until he sighed and slammed it in the second drawer. It wasn't like he would forget to take his potions with the pain still in his sinuses. The presents that were suitable for school that he had brought with him included an emerald green sweater from his Mum, a wizarding drawing kit from Sirius and lots of very interesting books on Magical Creatures from Remus. A little box had arrived from Portugal from Peter and inside of it had been a small kerchief sized shred of a lethifold cloak. It had been one of his favourite presents, as it was almost impossible to find anything like it at all, even in Knockturn Alley. He intended to keep it in his top drawer and show it off to Nott whenever he could and watch him turn green with envy. Maybe he'd even carry it around in his pocket when he wasn't stuffing a magical kerchief in there covered in bogeys. It was self cleaning, but still. He had to blow his nose at least four times a day.

 

“My Mother took us to Paris,” Malfoy drawled in the common room, “It was dead boring. I've been there at least twenty times before. We went to the Louvre – again, that's not the muggle side Potter but the magical one-”

 

Harry briefly looked up from his study material and then glanced back at it, already feeling the prickle of stares from half a dozen Slytherins. Malfoy enjoyed bringing up that Harry had muggle heritage in front of the rest of Slytherin, it was getting old but Harry supposed it was practically a novelty to be able to make fun of someone that easily.

 

“Got some books,” Theodore said, as he thudded them onto the little table, “and these, are good ones.”

 

“Hullo Theo,” Harry said, amused when his eye twitched, “where did these come from?”

 

“Dusty cubbies,” Theodore snickered, “that's what my Father said.”

 

“They smell funny,” Harry said.

 

“Like books, you mean?” Theodore scoffed, “besides, the good ones all smell like burnt rats or something, that way you can tell they were used by real dark wizards.”

 

It was almost a blessed relief Harry couldn't smell anything properly for another few weeks Theodore's strange smell was something that required an adjustment period, it was nice the few days at home he could actually sniff the air without it.

 

“Not sure if that's a selling point,” Harry said, “what's in this one?”

 

It had an elaborate cover that was a burning bush overlaid in worn out silver and gold.

 

“It's all about Celtic magical theory,” Theodore said, “purely speculative but the ancients didn't give a toss about distinctions between dark magic or not, they were real daring.”

 

“Blew themselves up a lot too, I'd wager,” Harry said.

 

“Of course,” Theodore said, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world, “some of the most famous wizarding inventions killed their makers. Can't make a quidditch game without murdering a few snitches.”

 

“Well you can actually,” Harry said, amused, “but that's beside the point.”

 

“Exactly,” Theodore said, “modern magic is soft.”

 

“Potter,” Crabbe had lumbered over to their table, “that thing in the bell jar...”

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “thanks for feeding it over the holidays Crabbe.”

 

It was probably the only pet that Crabbe had a hope of keeping alive as it fed on general annoyance, which Crabbe fortunately exhibited loads of when asked to stand next to something and read for any length of time.

 

“Naw,” Crabbe said, “no problem. I feel smarter already.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “good. I guess.”

 

Crabbe nodded and then stood silently for a few minutes until he remembered what he had come to Harry for in the first place.

 

“Can I join your study group?” he said, “my Dad reckons I'm not going to pass arithmancy without some help.”

 

“Yeah, no,” Theodore said, “go on, go back to Malfoy. He'll teach you loads of things, I'm sure. Probably learned them all from his Mum under her apron strings.”

 

Crabbe stared at them dumbly for a for a few moments then made his way back to his table where most of the other first-year Slytherins were desperately trying to keep an interested look on their face while Malfoy went on and on about France.

 

“He's not letting up is he,” Harry whispered to Theodore.

 

“Our parents know each other,” Theodore said, “he figures if our fathers get on then he can ask me for anything like he can Malfoy. That's not on, I'm not wasting my time with some half-wit when our proper study group has serious minded wizardry going on.”

 

“I'm sure Hermione would love to hear it,” Harry said.

 

“Miss Granger can whinge about fairness all she likes,” Theodore said, “her little Gryffindor friends are out. In fact, no Gryffindors allowed as far as I'm concerned.”

 

“Doubt we'll have much trouble keeping to that,” Harry said.

 

When study group resumed in the library, two new members had shown up. One wasn't such a surprise, the other Harry was quite shocked to see.

 

“Hullo,” Terry said, “been a long time, Potter.”

 

The look on Terry's face was a bit pained and Harry wondered what made him join their table and not with his usual Ravenclaw crowd. Hermione arrived along with Millicent Bulstrode. Theodore took out a brand new silver coloured notebook and marked all their names down.

 

“Attendance,” he said smugly, “and for our marks on tests.”

 

“That's competitive,” Hermione said, “I'm not sure if competition is what we need.”

 

“If we don't know what are marks are, how can we know who's best?” Terry said.

 

Theodore snapped his book shut, “The one with the square spectacles speaks the truth. Who are you and where did you come from? Don't think I've seen you before, is he a friend of yours?”

 

“Not exactly,” Harry said.

 

“Ehrm, well,” Terry began.

 

“His _superior minded_ friends don't like him anymore,” Hermione said, “because he cheated on a test.”

 

It was easy to see that Hermione had a bone to pick with Terry and was struggling not to revel in his misfortune. Harry fought hard not snicker, Terry must have been a real prat to get Hermione that worked up about anything that wasn't an exam.

 

“I didn't,” Terry said, “I just-”

 

“Creatively used pattern recognition and transparent paper from a muggle shop to cheat,” Hermione said, “it's all right Terry, everyone knows.”

 

“We don't cheat,” Harry said, “so if that's what you're on about you can shove off.”

 

“I'm not,” Terry said firmly, “look, I can't even sit at anyone's table without all of them getting up and leaving because they're afraid I'm going to nick their notes, it was one bloody time! I just did it to see if I could get away with it. It wasn't anything more than that. You know what I mean, Hermione!”

 

Hermione sighed, “you're awful, Terry. And it's up to Harry, it's his group.”

 

“And I have the ledger,” Theodore said, waving his book.

 

“Right,” Terry said, “well, I want to learn things and you're all very smart. And better than me, or whatever it is I have to say to get you to let me sit at a table so I can read books without being accosted, or made fun of. Thanks much.”

 

Theodore burst out laughing.

 

“I think he's in,” Theodore said, “as long as Miss Granger has no objections.”

 

“No objections here, Theo,” Hermione said, smiling when he twitched, “no funny stuff Terry, I mean it.”

 

“None at all,” Terry said seriously.

 

Terry eagerly unpacked his books and Harry was pleased to notice he didn't have anything particularly advanced or anywhere near the level the three of them spent their spare time reading.

 

“What do you all do here?” Millicent asked.

 

“Read and things,” Harry said, “if there's any trouble we help each other out. So, what brings you to our table?”

 

“I'm his friend,” Millicent nodded at Theodore, “besides, someone's got to keep him in line.”

 

“Good idea,” Hermione said, “Theodore definitely needs keeping in line sometimes, Harry goes soft on him.”

 

“It happens,” Millicent said, “he sort of grows on you after a while, like a wild fungus.”

 

“Smells like it too,” Terry muttered under his breath.

 

Harry, Millicent and Hermione gave him a cold glare.

 

“Sorry,” Terry amended, hiding behind his book, “I didn't mean anything by it. I like the smell of old books, really.”

 

It was different having friends to spend time with, even if it was only a few times in a week. The next letter Harry sent home was carefully worded to make sure he included his Ravenclaw friends so that his parents wouldn't be so concerned about his sorting into Slytherin. The entire time he had been home his Uncle Sirius had been lurking about, looking as though he wanted to tell Harry something but holding back. Harry had also been very sick at the time so it wasn't as though they could have sat down and had a chat when he was busy being fussed over by his Mum and blowing snot from his face every few minutes.

 

“That's a lot of potions,” Nott commented at bed check, “what don't they have you on?”

 

“Things for old people,” Harry said, taking his evening potions, “better this than staying at home for another week, I was dead bored.”

 

Late that night at around 2 am Harry had a timed spell that would poke him in the ribs to wake him up so he could take his other potions. When he got up however, he had a desperate need to go to the loo and on his way back he noticed Malfoy was still up silhouetted behind his green curtains. Harry paused for a moment listening. He swore he could hear Malfoy sniffing miserably as though he had been crying for hours, a situation Harry was intimately familiar with. Quietly Harry made his way back to his cubby and wondered what had Malfoy so upset because earlier he wouldn't shut up about how great France was and all the things his father had bought him. It wasn't as though Malfoy were Harry's favourite person but as he laid in bed trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep, it bothered him.

 

At breakfast the next day Malfoy was talking with Crabbe and Goyle as though nothing had happened, Harry struggled to eat his oatmeal with a sore throat until he gave up trying and gathered up his books instead.

 

“Study group,” Nott said, “tomorrow.”

 

“Right,” Harry said.

 

“Hold on,” Malfoy said, “what have you two been up to?”

 

“Nothing you'd be interested in,” Harry said, “it's uhm, tutoring each other. And things. In the library.”

 

“With mudbloods,” Theodore said, “not your kind of thing, Malfoy.”

 

“I'll decide if it's my kind of thing or not,” Malfoy said, “I'm coming. Crabbe, Goyle, surely you can find something to amuse yourself with tomorrow night?”

 

“Yeah,” Crabbe said.

 

“Sure,” Goyle replied.

 

It wasn't the first time Harry wondered what sort of evenings one could spend with the two of them, considering.

 

“You're not-” Harry began and then quickly backed down.

 

It was the breakfast table, all of Slytherin would hear him turning down Malfoy insultingly and then he'd really be in for it.

 

“I meant,” Harry said, “you can come if you want but there are rules and things. And it's dead boring.”

 

“That's better,” Malfoy said, with a smug smile.

 

No matter what Harry had thought the night before, he certainly disliked Malfoy at that very moment. Harry picked up his books and left at an alarming clip that Theodore easily caught up to a few seconds later.

 

“Was nice while it lasted,” Theodore said cheekily.

 

“Hermione and Malfoy,” Harry said, “is not on. If they get together the whole thing will blow up.”

 

“Terry isn't exactly bias free,” Theodore said, “but at least he obsessively goes along with whatever everyone else is doing. He'll have a regular crisis with two factions at war with each other.”

 

“It's hardly war,” Harry said, “Malfoy's a prat. I know he's your friend but there's no getting around it, it's a fact. He'll say something and Hermione won't put up with it and then it'll be Madame Pince kicking us out for the rest of the year.”

 

For the next day and a half Harry was jittery in his seat all through potions, herbology and magical theory. Finally, it was time for study group and Harry reluctantly went to the library expecting a full scale war to have broken out before he'd even got there. It wasn't exactly as he expected as Malfoy, though he looked cross, was staring at his book while Hermione was literally hidden behind _Hogwarts: A History._ Terry cleared his throat awkwardly when Harry arrived.

 

“Hello,” Harry said, “Theo's going to be late, sending a letter in the owlery first. Ehrm, how has everyone been doing?”

 

Hermione slammed her enormous tome on the table, Terry jumped.

 

“Oh fine,” she snapped, “I was recently studying the Great Wizarding War and its impact on erroneous beliefs about blood purity. Seems someone here missed out on that chapter.”

 

 _Here it comes_ , thought Harry, _it'll all go pear shaped now_.

 

Malfoy gave her a righteous glare but miraculously held his tongue.

 

“Right,” Harry said, “That's uhm, important stuff. Terry what have you been up to.”

 

“Well,” Terry scrambled, “there was that bit in the magical theory book about Wegener's magical drifts and how they effect the development of incidental magic.”

 

“It's tricky,” Malfoy said, “the five major magical branches come together in certain spells, which was evidence of the first law. The second law says that drift occurs particularly during tectonic movements, deliberately linking magical movements with vibrations in the earth's crust.”

 

“There's only three on the test,” Hermione said, “that's what the Professor said.”

 

“And he'll probably add two more as a bonus question,” Malfoy said, “and one theoretical essay to trip us up.”

 

“What makes you say that?” Hermione said, “He's not the type to add tricks like that.”

 

“Because someone may have mentioned to me what was on the exam,” Malfoy said, “I have friends in high places, you see.”

 

“Very high,” muttered Terry, “Professor's table I assume.”

 

“Please,” Harry said, “as if Professor Snape would ever tell anyone anything.”

 

“We're friendly,” Malfoy said, imperiously, “he tells me loads of things.”

 

“So I suppose that's why Harry gets extra lessons and you don't,” Hermione said, tartly.

 

Malfoy's head turned so fast Harry was surprised it didn't snap off his neck.

 

“The rumours are true?” Malfoy said.

 

“No! I mean, yes! I mean what are the rumours exactly, Malfoy?” Harry said, floundering.

 

Harry was honestly surprised the whole school didn't know what with Theodore obsessing over it every few minutes at breakfast and dinner and every moment in between.

 

“Dark arts,” Malfoy said, “with Professor Snape. The same Professor who recently won an award for theoretical discourse on the subject-”

 

“That was potions,” Terry supplied.

 

“It was potions used in the dark arts,” Malfoy snapped, “and don't speak out of turn Boot or you'll receive your name sake out the door.”

 

“Harry's the one that decides that,” Hermione said, “do continue Malfoy, you're jealousy is quite dramatic.”

 

Malfoy clenched his jaw, “as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I had no idea Potter had any propensity for that sort of thing at all. I thought you were more interested in magical beasts or whatever.”

 

“I am,” Harry said, “but it was offered to me. Look, rumours are fine but no one can confirm anything either way or I'll be in loads of trouble.”

 

“Not with the Headmaster I hope,” Terry said.

 

“Of course the Headmaster approves everything,” Harry said, “that's not what I meant. It's just, well, it's under everyone's hats as much as it can be for as long as it can be. All right?”

 

“It's a talent,” Theodore said, as he slammed a book on the table, “raw talent. Why else would the Professor take an interest after turning down every apprentice for years?”

 

“I'm not his apprentice,” Harry quickly corrected, “and nothing I'm learning is terribly shocking.”

 

“If the rest of Slytherin knew that-,” Malfoy said.

 

“Don't,” Harry warned, “I'm serious Malfoy. It's between us only, that goes for you too Terry.”

 

“I wouldn't,” Terry said, “I'm not a Slyth-”

 

Terry wisely stopped himself before saying something that would get the rest of the table worked up.

 

“Where's Millicent?” asked Harry.

 

“On the pitch,” Theodore said, “she'll be back here when it's closer to testing time, I promise. She's determined to get on the team next year, no matter what Flint says.”

 

“I'll keep your secret,” Malfoy said, with a smug smile, “but you owe me one Potter.”

 

Harry sighed, “whatever, Malfoy.”

 

After their group dispersed, Hermione ran to catch up with Harry in the hallways. Theodore and Malfoy had gone off somewhere, probably back to the common room and Terry had quickly fled so his friends wouldn't see him talking to so many Slytherins. The look on her face was very serious and Harry felt a clenching sensation in his stomach.

 

“Harry,” Hermione said, “don't take this the wrong way.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, “about Malfoy. I couldn't stop him. It's erhm, house politics stuff. He would just show up and ruin everything anyway if I kicked him out.”

 

“That's what you said about Theodore,” Hermione said, “and it's not about Malfoy, it's about you.”

 

“Go on,” Harry said apprehensively.

 

“Neville and Ron have it in their heads that Professor Snape is up to something,” Hermione said, “we found Flamel's name on a chocolate frog card. It links him with the Philosopher's stone.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, finally recollecting where he had heard the name before, “right. The stone that gives the person using it immortality.”

 

“That's right,” Hermione said, “when Neville had detention one night he saw something terrible in the woods, a strange person in a cloak who flew without a broom.”

 

“It wasn't Professor Snape,” Harry said, “I can tell you that much.”

 

“How do you know for sure?” Hermione said.

 

Harry sighed, “because the last few times Professor Snape was coming from the Forbidden Forest it was after I had lessons with him. There was only that one time-”

 

“With the bite on his leg,” Hermione said, “there's a dog that guards the stone. Neville, Ron and I ran into it. Anyway, they know you came back from the forest with him those other times and I had to do quite a lot of work to convince them you weren't trying to steal the stone for Professor Snape!”

 

“That's just mental! And he wouldn't do that,” Harry said, “but Professor Quirrel might. Look, Hermione you have to trust me on this. Professor Quirrel is the one to look out for I know he seems harmless but-”

 

Harry didn't exactly want to say he saw an evil face and had run from the room in a panic.

 

“Can you trust me,” Harry said, “please, Hermione? They're looking in the wrong corner and with Neville's broom being hexed-”

 

“You saw that?” Hermione said, “I had to light fire to Professor Snape's cloak before it stopped!”

 

“It wasn't him,” Harry said, “Quirrel turned his head at the same time!”

 

The hallways were beginning to become crowded, they had to walk for some minutes until they wandered into a quieter corridor and hid behind a large gargoyle before resuming their conversation.

 

“All right,” she said, “but Harry there's something else. You know I don't like Malfoy but Theodore-”

 

“Theo's fine,” Harry said, “come on, you like him. He's funny!”

 

“Harry,” Hermione said, “that's not the problem. I was reading about the first wizarding war and Hadrian Nott came up a lot, that's Theodore's father. Do you know why? His list of crimes is probably twice the length of my arm.”

 

Harry scoffed, “if that were true he'd be rotting away in Azkaban.”

 

“People have tried,” Hermione said, “people like your Mum and Dad. They're in there too, actually for their brave actions during the war. But also because your Dad killed Theodore's Mum by accident. Hadrian Nott's probably been looking for revenge ever since.”

 

“That's not,” Harry said, he felt suddenly sick and went pale, “that's not Theo. He may be barmy but he wouldn't hurt me.”

 

“It's not Theodore I'm worried about, Harry!” Hermione said, “I thought you should know, just in case he invites you to his house or something. Harry, be careful in Slytherin. It's not known for its tradition of nice people.”

 

“I've made it this far,” Harry said, “and Theo isn't his Dad!”

 

“Your Dad's an auror,” Hermione said, “he's very famous. Alarmingly so, I never realized it before now because I'm muggle-born so I don't hear that sort of thing very much. But the number of people who would hurt you because of what your father did, the list is really long. And most are in Slytherin house -your own house, Harry! That puts you in a lot of danger.”

 

“You've got it wrong,” Harry said, shaking his head, “there's nothing wrong with Slytherin. But a lot wrong with the attitude about it.”

 

There had never been moments that Harry had felt loyal to his house except when other people called it rubbish. Without saying goodbye he left quickly, legs pushing him through the hallways and other Hogwarts students as fast as they could. He felt the familiar burning sensation behind his eyes and ducked into the boys bathroom before anyone could see. He began sniffing almost immediately and locked himself in a stall.

 

After some time had passed, Harry left the bathroom feeling better and made his way to his common room.

 

“What took you so long?” Malfoy demanded, as soon as Harry had appeared from the porthole.

 

“Nothing,” Harry said, “talking to Hermione.”

 

A few curious heads looked up at him, some ducked down and snickered.

 

“Crying again is more like it,” was whispered behind Harry's back.

 

Harry's shoulders clenched while he grit his teeth and threw his bag beside his corner table under the green lantern. He took out some parchment and attempted to write a letter to his Dad over and over again, unsure of what to say. When the paper began to blur again, Harry got up and headed for his cubby. He drew his green curtains back and flopped onto his bed staring up at the patterns on the ceiling. They arched and twined around like silver coloured snakes on a green field. Harry closed his eyes but sleep was very slow in coming.

 

Feeling more wretched than ever Harry practically slept his way through his morning classes. He was just glad he hadn't extra lessons or potions that day because his head was on anything but his lessons. Theodore nudged him a few times with his elbow and arched his brow but Harry just shook his head. It wasn't something Harry wanted to talk about. _Someone told me my Dad killed your Mum and now your father's a violent nutter, is that true?_ wasn't exactly class time conversation. It did make Harry wonder that if Hadrian Nott was so bad why his son didn't seem to suffer that much from it. Theodore was certainly strange but not in an alarming way, not the way he'd read about in books concerning abusive households and feral children left to fend for themselves. He was fed and clothed and didn't mention his life at home with any kind of fear which actually made it more confusing for Harry to picture what his house might be like. Messy, maybe. But dangerous? Hermione had to be wrong.

 

“This summer,” Theodore said to him at bed check, “come to my house, I've got loads of books on every subject. We can make a whole day of it in the library!”

 

“Really?” Harry said, excitedly, then immediately his cheer was dampened, “I don't think my parents would let me.”

 

“We'll figure something out,” Theodore said, cryptically, “but summer is on if you can go?”

 

Besides Neville and Ron who only asked Harry to join them because they had to, he'd never been invited to a friend's house before and the muggles at his elementary school were too risky to have over. Harry beamed with delight.

 

“Course it is!” Harry said.

 

 _Sod Hermione_ , Harry thought, _Theo's not out to get anyone, least of all me._

 

The Easter holidays were filled with tests and enormous amounts of homework that Harry and his study group quickly worked through. Malfoy only showed up for half of them so it wasn't as big a problem as Harry initially supposed and when the exams were getting closer he mostly kept his face firmly planted into his books. Hermione and Malfoy were experiencing a rivalry in test marks it seemed, though not exactly hostile to one another Harry wouldn't dare call their association at all friendly. But they would begrudgingly help each other even if it were just to prove how much smarter they were than everyone else. The exams came and went and Harry hadn't even thought about the Philosopher's Stone for ages until he accidentally ran into a bedraggled looking Neville hopping his way up the stairway to Gryffindor tower.

 

“Oi Nev!” Harry said, amused, “don't you know the counter for the leg locker curse yet?”

 

“Stop laughing!” Nevile said, miserably, “It was one of your lot who hexed me and I forgot.”

 

“How'd you do on your exams,” Harry said, “make it through charms? Potions? Herbology? Have they tossed you out yet? Even Crabbe and Goyle passed.”

 

“Stop it,” Neville said, irritably, “why you are always such a prat?”

 

“Can't help it with the company,” Harry said.

 

Neville's legs suddenly sprang apart because Hermione had been kind enough to use the counter-curse as she came up the stairs.

 

“Really, Harry,” she said, “that's so immature.”

 

“What are you doing up here?” Harry said.

 

“It's-” Hermione hesitated, “something to do with Hagrid. Right, Neville?”

 

“Oo-oh,” Neville said, as though he hadn't a clue, “right! That.”

 

“Hagrid and his sodding dragon,” Ron said as he stepped out of the Gryffindor portrait, “he lives in a wooden house!”

 

Harry stared at the three of them who stared back. Ron at least had the decency to blush realizing he had just given away their secret.

 

“He has a dragon?” Harry said, his voice going a bit high, “I'm coming with!”

 

“No, no way not him,” Ron complained, “I'm not having a Slytherin because by lunchtime tomorrow everyone will know.”

 

“No they won't,” Harry snapped, “I love dragons! We're going together.”

 

When they reached Hagrid's hut he let them in but seemed very surprised to see Harry.

 

“Potter eh?” Hagrid said, “I recognized you at the sorting. Sorry I haven't said hello very much.”

 

“It's okay,” Harry said, he was well aware it was probably the silver and green scarf around his neck that had done it, “Dad told me all about you, I knew who you were the moment you came down to bring us on the boats.”

 

“I still write to yer parents regularly,” Hagrid said, grinning, “all o' yer Dad's friends and what they got up to- that's a school legend, that is.”

 

“We've been hearing,” Neville said, bitterly.

 

Harry felt slightly mollified that the stories about his Dad made Neville uncomfortable.

 

“It was a grand time in Hogwarts history, Neville! Well 'Arry, if you don't mind me saying I was a little surprised,” Hagrid said, “with yer house colours.”

 

“So was I,” Harry said, “it's all right though, in Slytherin.”

 

“Except for the tantrums he throws when things don't go his way,” Ron said, darkly.

 

“Ron!” Hermione said, shushing him.

 

“I'm making friends,” Harry said, “it was a rough few weeks at the start.”

 

“Should think it would be,” Hagrid said with a wince, “not a wizard that's gone bad that hasn't been in Slytherin fer a time. And with your Dad and all a big hero-”

 

Hagrid gave him a pitying look and Harry flushed feeling more embarrassed by Hagrid's sympathy than anything.

 

“It's okay,” Harry said, “really. So uhm, where's your dragon?”

 

“Ah,” Hagrid said, “he's outside. It's feeding time, would you lot like to toss him some rabbit?”

 

Nevill frantically shook his head while Ron looked a bit sick. Hermione coughed politely while Harry stood up.

 

“I can't wait!” Harry said, smiling, “Are they still alive?”

 

“Naw,” Hagrid said, “got them snared. Norbert's too little to chase after the little blighters but he roasted a badger that wandered too close the other night and ate it himself.”

 

“That's a good sign, Hagrid,” Harry said, “it says in all the literature that when a baby dragon starts hunting for itself the parent is raising it right.”

 

Hagrid looked like he was about to cry with joy even when Ron made a face concerning Norbert's eating habits. The four of them went out behind Hagrid's hut to a large field that had once housed Hagrid's pumpkins. It was now filled with a large baby dragon who was probably big enough to fill up Hagrid's house.

 

“I have to keep him way out back most days,” Hagrid said, “lest anyone get a look at him and go running off to turn em in.”

 

The dead rabbits were in a crate and the four took turns tossing them at Norbert who snapped viciously and ripped their heads off when he wasn't busy roasting them to a crisp. Harry had never seen a real live dragon that close before and he kept inching near as he could to get a better look at it. Unfortunately, while he was trying to feed Norbert another rabbit the dragon mistook his hand for his dinner and bit him, hard.

 

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked.

 

Harry was just glad Norbert hadn't chose that moment to burp up flames.

 

“Ow!” Harry winced.

 

The bite was raw, red and angry and it looked deep.

 

“I'll help ye, Harry!” Hagrid said, “Norbert didn't mean it! He was startled, he was.”

 

“I know,” Harry said, “he's a dragon he can't help it.”

 

“Better you than me,” Ron said, wincing at Harry's bite.

 

“If it were you he'd have burned you to a crisp,” Harry said, “dragons don't like boisterous personalities.”

 

“That's rubbish,” Neville said, “it's a dragon, it's not like it can tell.”

 

“They're very sensitive creatures,” Harry said, wincing as his wound began to bleed profusely.

 

“He's as mad as Hagrid,” Ron said.

 

A thick white kerchief was wrapped around his hand and Harry tried to assure Hagrid that he was all right. Harry decided he would only go to Pompfrey if he absolutely must because she might recognize a dragon bite and that would be the end of Norbert's stay at Hogwarts. When Harry got back to Slytherin a few students were milling in the common room and gave him a once over as his hand had begun to bleed again. Harry wondered if all dragon bites were supposed to hurt that much.

 

“What did you do to your hand?” Theodore asked him,

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “I was playing with a dog out by Hagrid's hut.”

 

“If it's that mad it should be put down,” Malfoy said as he reclined on the common room couch, “along with that great oaf, Hagrid,”

 

“I like Hagrid,” Harry said, “anyway, if it's bad still tomorrow I'll go see Pompfrey.”

 

“It looks poisoned,” Theodore said, grabbing Harry's hand and looking at it closely, “wound's got webbing.”

 

“Really?” Harry said, panicked, “I mean, not like, deadly or anything? Do you think?”

 

“Can't tell,” Theodore said, “but if you wake up dead tomorrow, we'll know.”

 

“Ha ha,” Harry said, dryly.

 

It was a restless night not only because of the wound on Harry's hand but also because he had nearly convinced himself he would somehow let out that a dragon had bit him in his sleep and doom Hagrid to Azkaban or even worse, he'd not wake up at all. After falling asleep for only a few hours Harry woke up to excruciating pain. He could barely move his hand without the feeling of knives stabbing into his skin. He almost made it to potions but was stopped in the hall by Professor Snape.

 

“As much as I approve attendance in potions class on pain of death that injury requires looking at Potter,” Snape said, darkly, “remember our conversation about vainglorious heroics? I meant every word I said.”

 

With that grim statement, Harry was off to the hospital wing before Professor Snape dragged him there himself.

 

“That's a dragon bite!” Madame Pompfrey said, almost immediately, “where in the world did you find a dragon? Doesn't look like the Welsh type.”

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “it was actually a dog.”

 

“With poison fangs?” Pompfrey said, giving him a look, “this is going to hurt, Potter. Dragon poison is nothing to scoff at. You're lucky it was only a young dragon who did this, an older one and you might not have made it through the night.”

 

Harry's skin went ashen at the thought and then the rest of him too, as he realized he was about to be sick.

 

“Here you are,” Pompfrey said, as she handed him a kidney shaped bed pan, “the antidote is only going to make it worse and then your hand should be spelled cool to take down the swelling. Once that's over with, you can rest here for a few days until the poisons work their way out of your system.”

 

“Wonderful,” Harry said, he wasn't sure if looking after a dragon was worth that.

 

It wasn't long after classes ended that Harry received his first visitor.

 

“What in the world happened?” Theodore said.

 

At the time Harry was expelling everything he'd ever ate into a bedpan and he wasn't exactly in the mood to talk.

 

“Dragon,” he coughed out.

 

Theodore leaned over and looked in the pan.

 

“It's black,” Theodore said, “a young dragon I hope?”

 

“Baby,” Harry spat into the pan, “I'll be fine.”

 

“Sure,” Theodore said, “except you can't stop sicking up and your hand looks like it's going to fall off.”

 

“Feels like it too,” Harry coughed and then leaned over his pan again.

 

After his first night he did feel better but unfortunately it meant a visit from Professor Snape early the next morning.

 

“A dragon bite, Potter?” he said, while looming over Harry's bed.

 

Harry wasn't throwing up at the moment but he certainly wished he was so he could avoid the frosty looks he was getting from the Professor.

 

“Who exactly at Hogwarts would be stupid and brazen enough to keep an infant dragon?” Professor Snape said.

 

Harry coughed and felt mildly ill but held it in, “it was wild.”

 

“Lying was never your father's strong suit either,” Professor Snape said, “and I already have the answer to my question because there's only one person idiot enough to try to hide a dragon in a wooden house and then expose it to students.”

 

“He didn't mean to,” Harry sputtered, “please don't have him sacked, Hagrid always means well, even you must know that!”

 

Professor Snape smirked, “I was only half sure. Thank you for elucidating the matter Mr. Potter I'll give Hagrid my regards when they hopefully toss him out on his ear for illegal animal husbandry.”

 

“No!” Harry tried to sit up but promptly keeled over onto his side.

 

Professor Snape stormed out of the hospital wing and left Harry to his misery, until Malfoy and Theodore showed up in the afternoon after their classes. They both had homework under their arms and stacked it up on Harry's table for when he was well enough to actually work on it.

 

“There are some mad stories going around,” Theodore said, “what were you doing with a dragon anyway?”

 

“I saw it,” Malfoy said, “I went out as soon as I heard to that great oaf's hut and it was right there, in the middle of the garden! And those Gryffindor clots were there too.”

 

“It's hard to hide a dragon,” Harry weakly replied, “anyway, I was only feeding it rabbit and it bit me. Nothing too extraordinary there.”

 

“I bet it'll scar,” Theodore said excitedly.

 

Malfoy promptly smacked him on the arm.

 

“This one's been a handful since you left,” Malfoy said, “and you'd best get well again because study group wasn't the same without you to keep Granger in line.”

 

Harry blinked, Malfoy actually seemed to care about something other than himself.

 

“If I told my father, he'd swoop down and force Dumbledore to hire a proper games keeper,” Malfoy sniffed, “but for now, I have it on good authority Hagrid's dragon raising days are over.”

 

“I'm not too sure,” Theodore said, “Longbottom and Weasley were talking about what they were going to do. Something about the Weasel's brother and dragons?”

 

“Charlie,” Harry said, “that makes sense actually. He raises dragons in Romania.”

 

“I bet we can head them off,” Malfoy said, “Tonight, Nott. We're going to Hagrid's hut.”

 

“That's probably a bad idea,” Harry said, “what'll you do if you're caught?”

 

“Serve detention for the rest of our lives,” Theodore said, as he clapped Malfoy on the back, “besides, it's revenge now isn't it?”

 

“I don't want vengeance I just want to stop feeling like rubbish,” Harry said tartly, “which is impossible right now-”

 

“Don't bother yourself, Potter,” Malfoy said, “Nott says he has an idea.”

 

The smile Theodore wore was probably meant to be uplifting, instead it looked unhinged. Harry tried to smile but promptly fell sick again. He supposed friends weren't really friends until they held your bedpan while sicking up, Theodore kept staring at the black vomit as though it were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. Malfoy of course, had practically fled the room at the first signs.

 

It wasn't terribly surprising when Harry got out of the hospital wing that he had heard Theodore and Malfoy were serving a lot of detention. Professor McGonagall had caught them out of bed and even though they went on about a dragon she hadn't believed them and Neville, Ron and Hermione had been persistently mum about it. Harry was just glad he wasn't the one being sent to the forbidden forest in the middle of the night to help Hagrid collect firewood or whatever it was. But that night when Harry was gratefully back in his bed in Slytherin, Theodore and Malfoy burst into the dorm out of breath.

 

“I've never run so fast in my life,” Malfoy hissed, “was that what I think it was?”

 

“I don't know,” Theodore said, his voice shook, “but sod Longbottom, what's left of him can have him!”

 

“What's going on?” Harry said, pushing aside his curtains with his good hand.

 

“Theodore and Malfoy looked at Harry and then at each other.

 

“It's just something-” Malfoy started, “probably nothing.”

 

Theodore flinched at Malfoy's poor attempt at obfuscating.

 

“You saw something,” Harry said, “in the woods?”

 

“Someone,” Theodore said, “what's left of them anyway.”

 

Harry looked at the two of them and the way they were shaking.

 

“I think,” Theodore said, “that was-”

 

“Don't say it,” Malfoy said, he had turned so pale he looked like he was going to keel over, “don't, Theodore!”

 

“You-Know-Who,” Theodore said.

 

The three of them hid behind Harry's curtains and though he was still very tired from his dragon bite, that kind of announcement wasn't to pass without a thorough explanation.

 

“Unicorn blood is cursed,” Harry said, “I'm surprised anyone would do it but if he's that desperate than the must be in a bad way.”

 

“I don't know,” Theodore said, “my father gets a bit...twitchy when I ask about You-Know-Who but I'm sure there are books in our library about Unicorn blood and its effect on the soul.”

 

Malfoy's hands were still shaking and he had wrapped them around his own green and silver tie nearly strangling himself in the process, trying to keep them still.

 

“It wasn't,” Theodore said, “like what we saw was entirely human. No one moves like that with a body fully intact.”

 

“Maybe he doesn't have a body,” Harry said, “but he must be using something to drink the blood.”

 

“Don't!” Malfoy suddenly said, “I can't stand thinking about it.”

 

Malfoy became aware of what he'd said just as he'd said it and let out a small noise of distress.

 

“It's all right to be scared,” Harry said, “if I'd seen what you had I'd be awake for months.”

 

“Says the boy who was bitten by a dragon he tried to pet,” Theodore remarked.

 

“It was worth it,” Harry said, “I am awfully glad the dragon wasn't put down and went to the reserve, no thanks to either of you.”

 

“There's more important things to worry about than a dragon,” Malfoy said, “Longbottom grabbed his scar and then-”

 

“Saw it slither right out of the darkness,” Theodore said, “like something out of my worst nightmare.”

 

“Did,” Harry said, his eyes wide, “Neville, did he get away?”

 

“Think we'd hear if he didn't,” Theodore said, “I wasn't staying to find out.”

 

Everything appeared normal the next day. No one was bemoaning the death of Neville Longbottom so Harry assumed he had done all right in the woods facing whatever it actually was that had terrified Theodore and Malfoy so badly they'd been up almost the whole night talking about it. Harry had collapsed asleep in his bed after only another hour. Still, it was in Harry's best interest to suss out the facts so he wondered around the upper levels of the school until he was sure he saw Neville looking a bit peakier than usual walking alongside Ron Weasley.

 

“If he goes for the stone before we can get there,” Neville said, “we're through!”

 

They were both walking at a fast clip, Harry wondered what the hurry was.

 

Ron shrugged, “at least Hermione is looking out for Snape.”

 

“How was the forbidden forest Nev?” Harry asked, cheekily.

 

“Oh no,” Neville said, “please go away Harry, we're onto something important.”

 

“Budge off!” Ron said.

 

“I don't think so,” Harry said, “what are you on about now? I told you, Professor Snape hasn't done anything. You're both so ridiculous! Can't you hear yourselves?”

 

“Quit it Harry!” Neville shouted.

 

It actually stopped Harry in his tracks for a few minutes as he'd never heard Neville shout before.

 

“I'm not giving it up,” Harry said and chased after them, “what are you doing? You're up to something!”

 

“I'm so sorry!” Hermione said, as she burst through the hall towards them, “Professor Snape found me and I had to say I was waiting for Professor Flitwick so he went and got him and it was ages before I got away!”

 

“Oh no,” Neville said, “come on then! To the third floor!”

 

“What are you three doing? It's forbidden for a reason!” Harry said, “Hermione! Are you really listening to them?”

 

“They have proof, Harry!” she nearly shouted at him, “And you told me Professor Snape already warned you off with all kinds of threats, go back to Slytherin before you get in trouble!”

 

“What about you?” Harry said, “I'd think your scarf was as red as theirs with talk like that!”

 

“We're her friends,” Ron said, “now go on! Back to the dungeons with you!”

 

“Fine!” Harry shouted, “I'm going to tell everyone then! Oi! Professors! Anyone within ear shot these three are-”

 

The floor opened up under Harry's feet and he fell extremely fast through a dark tunnel into very hard ground. Gasping and sputtering he realized he was also in what amounted to a puddle sized bit of lake water. He could see a square of light a long way above him and a halo of bushy hair surrounding Hermione Granger's face very high from his head.

 

“Are you all right?” Hermione's voice shouted at him.

 

Harry took a look at the dirty hole he had found himself in and balked.

 

“ No! Not really!” Harry shouted back, “Where am I?”

 

“We'll tell the teachers when we get back,” Hermione said, “I'm so sorry, Harry! It's for the best!”

 

“No!” Harry said, beginning to panic, “you can't leave me down here! I don't even know where I am!”

 

“Sorry Harry, catch you later!” Ron said with entirely too much cheer.

 

Harry could only look up helplessly as Ron closed the hatch to the oubliette.

 

“If I smother to death,” Harry shouted, “I'm haunting every one of you!”

 

In the total darkness Harry began to shake. He took out his wand and cast lumos and noticed to his relief that though the oubliette appeared small there was actually a long winding path behind him. Where it went he had no idea and Harry did have some misgivings as Hogwarts castle was very old and it was often hard to tell which hallways were still used and which had been long abandoned and left to disrepair. Harry swallowed thickly and went the only way he could; forward.

 

It was probably a good many minutes before the pathway he was following began to shrink smaller and smaller and smell more like the outdoors. After quite some time Harry was on his hands and knees wallowing in muck trying to get out. Eventually, he crawled through into a larger, more modern looking stone tunnel. He could hear the wind whipping through it and smell the forest. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. His hands were shaking by this point and his wand hand trembling.

 

“You want out, or not?” a voice hovered in the tunnel.

 

Harry paused, there was no one there.

 

“I said,” the voice said, “out or in?”

 

“I don't know what you mean?” Harry said, more confused than anything.

 

From the darkness a glowing silvery wisp appeared and Harry recognized it from the bathroom his first night in Slytherin.

 

“Don't be afraid,” the voice said, “I'm not going to hurt you.”

 

“You're a ghost,” Harry said, “technically you can't.”

 

“Ghosts can still hurt people,” the voice said, “most don't know how.”

 

Harry had initially thought the ghost had been a boy but after hearing its voice it had turned out to be a woman wearing old fashioned men's clothes. The ghost's face was haggard and wan as though she had been in a bad way before she had died, her cheekbones were carved deep into her face and her eyes wide and wild looking. The hair around her head had fluffed up from neglect or perhaps she had been on a broom when she died as it was floating around her face.

 

“Who are you?” Harry asked, “you're not a Hogwarts ghost.”

 

“Oh but I am,” she said, her voice taking on a lofty tone, “no one knows all the ghosts at Hogwarts. It's always been a very ancient building, even in my time.”

 

“When was your time?” Harry said.

 

“The fourteenth century,” she said, with a sigh, “be glad I've kept up with modern vernacular or that book you've been reading would be what you'd need to understand what I'm saying.”

 

“You've been spying on me,” Harry said, “since that night in the bathroom?”

 

“Watching out for you,” she said, “most people choose to become ghosts, I didn't. I was punished by someone else.”

 

The woman turned to look at him and she smiled. Her teeth were crooked and she almost looked like a vampire with so many points in her mouth.

 

“Did you deserve it?” Harry asked, his lumos trembled in the dark.

 

“Most would agree emphatically that yes, I did,” she said, “Particularly your ancestors. They weren't all innocent, you know. A lot of sly types who wore green around their necks at school.”

 

“Not anymore,” Harry said, “there aren't any in my family that I know of.”

 

“Except you,” she said, “in front of us are two paths. One leads you out into the forest. It's peaceful there and full of stars. Quite safe, considering. The centaurs will take you back to Hogwarts where your parents will be waiting for you. The other path is stickier, it might even be the last path you walk. Down there Neville Longbottom is battling for his life against impossible odds. He has his father's love but it might not be enough, not against the Dark Lord. So, what do you choose? If I were you, I'd choose carefully. You may rid yourself of two enemies at once.”

 

The ghost looked down at Harry with an amused expression on her face but Harry felt that what she said was anything but funny. He had never liked Neville, it was true. But disliking somebody was a far cry from wishing them dead.

 

“Neville doesn't deserve to die,” Harry said, “Where is he?”

 

“This way,” the ghost said, she opened a hole in the wall.

 

The long hallway stretched far into the darkness, it didn't smell like the outdoors but instead like smoke and fire. He began at a brisk walk and by the end was running until he burst into a room that swirled with fire and magic so bright his eyes were temporarily blinded. Harry had been expecting something, perhaps a battleground with Neville laying bloody and half dead on the floor but the room was quiet, nearly silent despite the crackling of magical fire all around. The big mirror in the center of the room drew him to it and though Harry had some idea that it was a very powerful and perhaps very dangerous magical object he still stood before it looking into its depths.

 

The image turned foggy and then cleared.

 

“Who are you?” Harry said.

 

An older boy with dark brown hair and a Slytherin scarf stood beside him with his hand on Harry's shoulder. It was so real Harry checked behind himself to be sure no one was actually standing there. The image remained as solid as ever and Harry wondered who the strange boy was because he wasn't one of the sixth years he knew or any other he could think of.

 

“What's your name?” Harry asked.

 

But the stranger didn't answer, only smiled at him in a sly way and patted the shoulder of Harry's reflection the way an older brother might. Harry felt an odd sort of magic wash over him and while standing and gazing into the mirror he felt the most curious sensation. That he actually belonged somewhere. That he was happy to have been in Slytherin house because he had a friend to look out for him.

 

The sound of footsteps making their way over the stone caused Harry to lose his focus and rapidly shake off the effects of the mirror.

 

“Harry!” Neville said, “How did you get here without going through the-”

 

Neville looked very dirty and tired but no where near horrifyingly injured or mutilated the way Harry had been imagining.

 

“The what?” Harry said, “I followed a tunnel a ghost showed me. Are you okay?”

 

“Yes,” Neville said, “sort of. Okay, not really. I'm terrified! Ron had to sacrifice himself in an enormous chess game and Hermione went back through the flames to get the Professors but- how did you get here again?”

 

Harry sighed, “Never mind. I thought you were-”

 

“I see,” a voice said, “two of you made it through. I thought only Longbottom would manage it but here you both are. No matter, either of you can help.”

 

“Professor Quirrel?” Neville said, with the greatest surprise.

 

Harry hauled Neville backwards, he had been ready to run to the Professor but Harry knew better. Professor Quirrel wasn't there to help.

 

“Stay away from him Nev,” Harry said, “there's something wrong with him!”

 

“Something wrong with p-poor stuttering P-Proffessor Quirrel?” the Professor said, “No one ever suspected a thing, except you Harry. And your head of house, the much celebrated potion's master Severus Snape.”

 

“I thought-” Neville said, looking very surprised.

 

“He does seem like the type doesn't he,” Professor Quirrel said, “all bat wing robes and gloomy disposition. I wouldn't take private lessons from him, Harry. Other people might think you're up to something.”

 

“That's what you were doing,” Neville said, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him at all that Harry had been innocent.

 

“I know who is up to something,” Harry said, “even if I don't know why.”

 

“Clever boy,” Professor Quirrel said, “had it right from the beginning. I expected no less from someone with such unique talents. Oh, don't look so surprised Harry, not everybody gets swooped up by Professor Snape to be tutored. You must have quite the knack for dark magic, despite your parents' wholesome veneer. All the old families do and I recall the Potters were very old indeed. Almost as old as the Longbottoms. Now that's the real unexplained mystery! How did the infant Longbottom defeat the greatest wizard of the era? He certainly wouldn't have had any extra lessons as a tiny baby.”

 

“Voldemort killed my parents!” Neville shouted, “He isn't a great anything!”

 

_Enough of this!_

 

The hissing voice startled Harry and Neville who quickly grabbed each other's hands out of fear.

 

_Bring me the stone!_

 

Professor Quirrel stood before the mirror and looked into its depths.

 

“I see myself with the stone but-” the Professor said.

 

It was quickly put together in Harry's mind that the mirror was more than it seemed.

 

“Neville,” Harry whispered, “what do you see in the mirror?”

 

Neville sniffled, the fright was obviously getting to him.

 

“Well,” Neville said, “the last time I saw my parents. But just now I-”

 

Neville slipped something into Harry's hand and he nearly fell over when he realized Neville had the Philosopher's stone in his pocket, possibly the entire time since last looking into the mirror.

 

_Use the boy! The one with the scar!_

 

Neville nearly dropped the stone to the ground in fright but Harry quickly jammed it into his robe pocket.

 

“What do you see, Neville?” Professor Quirrel said.

 

“I've won the house cup,” Neville stuttered, “I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore-”

 

_He lies...He lies..._

 

“Longbottom!” Professor Quirrel said, “tell me the truth! What did you see? Or your little friend won't make it out alive!”

 

Professor Quirrel reached for Harry and wrapped his arms around his neck in a head lock. The stone bobbed in Harry's pocket and he nodded at Neville encouragingly from under Professor Quirrel's arm . It was all meant to stall for time because of course Neville had told him Hermione was rushing to get help. Surely, at any moment the dungeons would be crawling with teachers and aurors come to rescue them. They just had to live long enough for them to get there.

 

“I didn't see anything,” Neville said, “please, let Harry go.”

 

“I know all about you Longbottom,” Professor Quirrel said, “the newspaper has kept track of your every move since you were a toddler. Each step dutifully recorded and the swarms of aurors that protect you. This boy's father is very fast friends with your sort and quite frankly, I was surprised where the son of the famous auror ended up more than your sorting into the noble Lion's house. But you should know Neville, you can't trust a Slytherin to sacrifice himself, we value our lives the most. Don't make poor Harry suffer for your choices. Give me that stone!”

 

“Professor,” Harry choked out, “let me go. I'm not about to fight for someone I don't even like! I hate Neville! I can't stand him! Every time he came over I just wanted to bash in his stupid head with his stupid scar. Let me go! I have- I have something to show you.”

 

The professor seemed to debate for a few moments but the strange voice made his decision final.

 

_Let him go...I wish to see them. Both of them..._

 

“But master, you're not strong enough!” Professor Quirrel said.

 

_I am strong enough...for this....._

 

Harry was let go and he practically collapsed on the ground gasping from Professor Quirrel's tight grip. He scrambled on his hands and knees until he could gain enough momentum to stand and face Professor Quirrel, who had begun to unwind his violet turban. The grotesque smell began to grow stronger and Harry nearly fainted at the sight of the horrible face on the back of Quirrel's bald head.

 

_See what I have become? Mere shadow and vapour ... I have form only when I can share another’s body ... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds ... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks ... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the Forest, Longbottom... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own ... Now ... why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket, Harry Potter? Forget about the Boy-Who-Lived, you wear the scarf of my old house around my neck and I'm prone to favoring those who are loyal to Salazar's cause. What loyalty could you possibly have towards a child you don't even like? His red scarf marked him more than his scar ever could and now you can end it all, right here! With that boy dead there won't even be a war and you can go back to your house a hero..._

 

“Harry, no!” Neville said, his eyes nearly bugging from his head.

 

From his pocket Harry had pulled out the stone with a smirk that would be worthy of Draco Malfoy.

 

“Sorry Nev,” Harry said, “Slytherins do have a kind of loyalty to each other, you know. I knew Nev was lying about the mirror from the start and took the stone right away, Professor Quirrel should have thought of that.”

 

A horrible hissing laugh came from the serpentine face with red eyes.

 

_Yes...he should have, Harry. I'll have to punish him later for his misdemeanor. In the meantime, the Stone shall be mine! Give it to me, I promise I won't touch your parents or your friends. There's only one person I want to destroy and he's in this room standing right next to you. If you give the Stone to me now, I'll be sure you'll have the first strike against your enemy!_

 

“I always wondered,” Harry said quietly, “What using the killing curse would be like. Professor Snape wouldn't let me touch the Unforgivables.”

 

_For shame...for shame...now...do it! Hand me the stone and the rest...glory eternal will be yours!_

 

“Harry,” Neville said, sniffing piteously, “you're horrible!”

 

Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping.

 

“Shouldn't ever trust a snake to do what they're told, Nev,” Harry said.

 

Then he turned around and used every ounce of his strength to fling the stone as far as he could past the flames out into the hallway.

 

“Run, Neville!” Harry shouted, “Run!”

 

Professor Quirrel screamed his rage along with the horrible snake faced head and Harry took off like a shot towards the hallway where the stone lay, while Neville ran quick as he could in the other direction.

 

_Kill the boy! The one with the scar, kill him! KILL HIM!_

 

The horrible hissing voice screamed. Harry ran into the hallway and stopped. He took out his wand, hands shaking and turned back running towards Neville. There was shouting and a lot of screaming and just when Harry thought it was all over and Neville was surely dead, he heard the most horrible and painful howling. Harry came upon Professor Quirrel screaming as his hands blistered and Neville gasping for breath crawling towards a darkened archway.

 

“Neville!” Harry cried.

 

Professor Quirrel's face twisted into an enraged mask and he stumbled towards Harry until the hissing screams started again.

 

_Kill him! The one with the scar!_

 

“But he's burning me!” Professor Quirrel cried.

 

_Do it now..! Sieze him!_

 

“AAAGGHH” Professor Quirrel screamed.

 

Harry watched disgusted as Neville grabbed Professor Quirrel's face and his skin literally began to melt from his bones. It seemed the Professor or more accurately, Voldemort couldn't touch Neville without harm coming to him. Professor Quirrel tried again and this time managed to wrap his hands around Neville's neck. Harry raised his wand and used the first curse that came to mind that he was sure he could cast.

 

“ _Vespervoltus!”_ Harry cried.

 

The room suddenly went dark. Professor Quirrel's screams died out and suddenly they were engulfed in a total blackness that left Harry breathless with fear. Eyes appeared out of the dark and while Harry could hear the pained whimpers of both Neville and Professor Quirrel, it all seemed very far away. A wispy figure hurtled towards him and suddenly the room became bright again and a very pale, snake faced man had his bony fingers wrapped around Harry's own neck. Neville was screaming his name and Professor Quirrel made no noise at all, which probably meant he was dead.

 

Harry tried to wrench the man's hands from his neck but he couldn't. Instead he looked into a set of crazed red eyes and a snake-like mouth full of sharp teeth and gasped as he felt the tightness around his neck increase. Right before Harry was sure he would pass out the man stopped, staggered upright and stared at his own hands in wonder.

 

“A body...!” the snake-man hissed.

 

“ _Finite-incantatum,”_ Harry gasped.

 

The darkness filled the room again and then seconds later the lights returned much brighter than before. Voldemort was nothing more than a terrible wisp and it screamed its anger and rushed at Harry and Neville. It went through both of them, before shooting into the hallway just as Professor Dumbledore came running into the room, the stone clutched in his hands and quickly tucked into his robes.

 

“Neville!” he cried, “good gracious, Harry too! Are you both all right?”

 

“I'm okay!” Neville managed, though he looked much worse for wear than when he had first entered the hall, “all right Harry?”

 

“I think,” Harry said, his neck hurting terribly, “I'm going to be sick.”

 

Harry staggered to his feet for only a few seconds before he spat something foul tasting onto the floor and collapsed in it.

 

The next thing Harry knew, he was waking up in the hospital wing with his hand clutched by several warm people.

 

“I think he's coming 'round! Best fetch the Headmaster, I'm sure he'll want to talk to him.”

 

“Moony?” Harry murmured.

 

“Right you are,” Sirius said, “along with Padfoot.”

 

“Give him room,” James said, “he's just woken up after three sodding days!”

 

“Sirius, Remus, James,” Lily said sharply, “I suggest you all leave for a moment and let him get his bearings.”

 

Some grumbling was heard but the three of them had left before Harry managed to get the world into focus. The first thing he saw was his mother's worried face, the second was an enormous pile of sweets on the table by his bed.

 

“Is Neville all right?” Harry scratched out, “What about Hermione?”

 

“They're all right,” Lily said, “Ron too, though he had a nasty headache from being dashed by a wizarding chess set. What were any of you thinking going into the dungeons like that?”

 

“I didn't mean to,” Harry said, “I fell into an oubliette then a ghost told me Neville was in trouble and I couldn't just leave him to it, you know how he gets. He falls to pieces!”

 

“Harry!” Lily said sternly, then to Harry's embarrassment she began to cry, “I've never been so proud of you! James was beside himself all night when he heard what happened! Harry James Potter, that was Voldemort you and Neville found in that dungeon! I don't know how either if you did it but I'm so glad you're both all right!”

 

“I didn't know until the last minute,” Harry said, “I wasn't sure what was going to happen. Did Neville tell you everything?”

 

“Of course,” Lily said, “he's been at school for days. He wasn't nearly strangled to death by a monster!”

 

Harry gingerly touched his neck and winced when he felt the bruise.

 

“Madame Pompfrey fixed you up as best as she could,” Lily said, “but there will be some discomfort until all the bruises fade, I have potions for when you come home. What in the world happened?”

 

“It was,” Harry said, “really weird in the dungeon. Can I have a mirror?”

 

“Yes,” Lily said, “but I'm warning you, it's a bit of a shock.”

 

Harry took the mirror and blanched when he saw an enormous hand print on the sides of his neck. The bruising looked nasty, dark and blue with purple webbing through it.

 

“They look much better than before,” Lily said, “Madame Pompfrey assured me.”

 

“Nothing he can't handle,” Sirius strode in, “that's our boy! Why fight dark wizards when you can fight the worst of them all and beat the bast-!”

 

“Sirius!” Lily shouted, “Please!”

 

“He didn't go looking for him on purpose,” Remus said, sighing, “the Headmaster will be arriving soon along with your Dad, Harry. Goodness knows, at least someone will know the story. I'm not sure what's worse, Sirius' bragging every chance he gets or Neville telling the whole school about it in lurid detail. I'm sure the story is so elaborate at this point it's as far from the truth as it can get.”

 

“All for the best I assure you,” the Headmaster said as he arrived, “if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Mr. Potter in private.”

 

“Of course,” Lily said, “come on, let's have some tea and biscuits.”

 

“I'd like to stay,” James said, “if I could. I'd like to – well, hear the story from Harry.”

 

The Headmaster seemed to hesitate for a moment and then smiled, “of course, of course.”

 

The two of them sat down together on either side of Harry's bed and in a strange way, Harry felt as though he were about to enter some kind of court. When Harry's Dad grabbed onto his hand and held on for dear life, Harry felt a little better and more relaxed.

 

“I didn't know,” Harry stammered, “that it was Voldemort, at first. I didn't meant to go looking for Neville but I just found him-”

 

“Now Harry,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “you aren't in any trouble at all. No one goes looking for that kind of danger, except maybe your father.”

 

James laughed awkwardly, “Unfortunately, Harry here seems to be far better at finding it than I was at his age.”

 

Headmaster Dumbledore laughed jovially, “That's to be expected Mr. Potter and your father would be so pleased to see the shoe on the other foot. But with that said, I think we both would dearly like to hear the story of how those dreadful bruises came to be around your neck Harry, as Voldemort was barely a shade the last time I had heard of his whereabouts and for a brief moment he seemed to possess a body.”

 

“I don't know how much help I'll be,” Harry said, “but I can tell you for certain that he doesn't have a body anymore and that's the only reason I made it out alive.”

 

Harry darted his eyes over to his Dad who looked upset and clutched Harry's hand quite a bit tighter than before.

 

“Explain to me precisely what transpired the moments before he turned into vapour,” the Headmaster requested, “if you please, Harry.”

 

“All right,” Harry said and he told them the whole story.

 

Except the really important parts, like the spell that he had cast and where he learned it and anything else he felt uncomfortable mentioning in front of his Dad. Because while Harry knew he was lucky to be alive, he also understood that keeping secrets was a very good trait to learn from Slytherin house and there were some things his Dad would have trouble understanding, like lessons in the dark arts from Professor Snape. Headmaster Dumbledore said not a word when Harry crossed out certain events and instead his eyes seemed to twinkle. Harry had a feeling the Headmaster knew the full story long before Harry's father had ever heard word of it and he wasn't hurting anyone omitting anything from it.

 

After some more fussing from his family and a great deal more from Madame Pompfrey, Harry was allowed to attend the leaving feast the next morning instead of going straight home. He was however, instructed by his Mum not to do anything taxing and thoroughly squashed by Uncle Sirius and his Dad until he could barely breathe before they all left him to it.

 

When Harry had a moment he rifled through his sweets and noticed that many of the names on the boxes and bags he didn't recognize. It became quickly apparent that the ones that had left him so many presents had been Neville's friends, thanking Harry for rescuing him from certain death. There wasn't a name from Slytherin in sight, not even from Theodore. However, there was a very nice card from Hermione that she had charmed with a dragon stencil flying on the front.

 

Inside it said;

 

_Please get well soon, Harry!_

 

_We all miss you!_

 

After leaving the hospital wing Harry wasn't sure how he felt to be back at the Slytherin table. Making his way as nonchalantly as he could with the entire great hall staring and whispering as he entered he made a point to ignore Neville and Ron even when they tried to call him over. He took his usual spot at the table away from everyone and sat down. Not a few seconds later the sound of numerous scraping chairs could be heard and Harry realized with some nervousness that he was surrounded by Slytherins.

 

“Harry!” a sixth year girl said, “tell us everything that's happened!”

 

“Draco's been worried sick,” Pansy said, “he thought you were dead!”

 

“What's been going on?” Mulciber asked, “Neville's been saying you fought dark wizards in the dungeon and barely lived to tell the tale!”

 

Theodore shoved his way through the swarm and pushed a third year off the chair next to Harry and nearly sat on another one to be sure he had his usual spot.

 

“Right then,” Theodore said, “after all the wild stories, you've got to tell us what actually happened.”

 

Malfoy was using Crabbe and Goyle to push his way through the crowd surrounding Harry and shoved a fourth year boy from the seat on the other side so he could sit down too. Harry hunched his shoulders, some friends he had, they hadn't even bothered to see him in hospital until it was already over.

 

“What's wrong with you lot?” Malfoy demanded, “Get back to your seats!”

 

It was a testament to his last name that the load of students actually bothered to listen to a first-year and spread out around their usual spots at the table again. Pansy looked hurt but held her head high with her nose in the air and practically glided into a seat by Millicent.

 

“What a load of rabble,” Malfoy said, “speaking of which, when we tried to visit we were practically hexed by that Godfather of yours.”

 

“Padfoot, you mean?” Harry said.

 

“The Black family pariah,” Theodore said, “my Dad knew his Mum. He said she was barkers, looks like your Godfather's taken a page from her book. I thought he was going to strangle the two of us when we came looking for you. He was like a raging bull at the sight of a green scarf. Millie tried too thinking at least your Mum knew her but then your Dad came around waving his wand along with his auror badge and told us all to shove off since half of Slytherin showed up wondering what in the world had happened. Honestly, we were all a bit rowdy by then. You'd been missing from class for four days practically and Professor Snape wasn't saying a word to anyone about it and the whole school thought you were dead!”

 

It was with a great deal of relief that Harry realized he hadn't been forgotten at all. Instead, his friends had been foiled by well meaning parents instead.

 

“Not everyone,” Malfoy said with a sniff, “only those less informed.”

 

“Oh, come off it! Pucey really laid it on thick about how he'd heard all about it and they were waiting for the feast to have a funeral and I heard him-” Theodore gestured at Malfoy who had turned slightly pink, “blowing his nose at bed check! I was only worried when Neville showed up looking peaky and ready to drop and Harry's seat was empty. I thought he might have finally done it and mucked up so badly he hurt someone other than himself.”

 

“The both of you really thought I was dead?” Harry said.

 

“No!” Theodore corrected, “I just- I didn't know what to think. That's some bruise, though. Looks poisoned.”

 

“It's fine if a bit ugly,” Harry said, raising his scarf a bit higher self consciously, “it doesn't hurt that badly anymore.”

 

“It looks like a hand-print!” was whispered loudly down the table.

 

“Is everyone all right down there,” Malfoy snapped, “would anyone like an autograph or a stinging hex?”

 

The whispers ceased but Harry knew it would only be moments before they started up again.

 

“The story isn't that interesting, really. Voldemort tried to kill me,” Harry said, quietly “after nearly killing Neville. I fell into a tunnel and a ghost told me Neville was in trouble so I followed it and there he was – Professor Quirrel trying to steal a magical stone. I think he died when Neville melted his face off.”

 

“That's a horrible way to die,” Theodore said, breathlessly, “what did it look like?”

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “more disgusting than how melted faces look, usually?”

 

“What's important is that Potter survived,” Malfoy said, “I can't say it was wise running off to save Longbottom from himself but someone that pathetic, I can understand the compulsion to do something about it.”

 

Harry snickered, “I couldn't leave him by himself, who knows what he'd get up to down there. Probably offer Voldemort a biscuit.”

 

“Pretty brave to say his name,” Theodore said.

 

“Why not?” Harry said, “It's not like I'm going to give him the chance to try and kill me twice.”

 

Crabbe and Goyle awkwardly guffawed while Malfoy looked a bit paler at the thought of another visit from You-Know-Who to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Headmaster had finally made his way to the table and the hall quieted to listen to his end of year speech. Harry sighed at the Ravenclaw banners above their head – Theodore and Malfoy had lost such a load of points for getting detention due to Professor McGonagall's ire when they told her the story about the dragon that they even lagged behind Gryffindor, despite Neville virtually hemorrhaging points for first half of the year.

 

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were ... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts ...Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Gryffindor, with four hundred and two; Slytherin have four hundred and sixty-two and Ravenclaw, four hundred and seventy-two.”

 

The Ravenclaw table was filled with hooting and shouting and Harry noticed Terry Boot mauled by his old set of school friends. He supposed Terry wouldn't be coming back to study group next year if he managed to keep his eyes to himself during exam time. Hermione clapped sedately by her lonesome again, far away from the other girls and boys. Harry felt a little bit bad for her despite his sudden change in social standing.

 

“However,” Dumbledore continued, “recent events must be taken into account.”

 

The Ravenclaw table suddenly stilled and quieted, everyone in the great hall held their breath. Everyone had known something had happened down in the dungeons but what it had to do with the house points was anyone's guess.

 

“I have a few last minute points to dish out, yes,” the Headmaster said, “First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley! For the best played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house 50 points!”

 

The Gryffindor table exploded in whoops and cheers and Harry could hear the Weasley twins crowing along with Neville, who had jumped up from his chair in his excitement and shouted along with them.

 

“Second- to Miss Hermione Granger for cleverness used in the face of fire, I award Ravenclaw house 50 points!”

 

The entire Ravenclaw table went silent and then burst into excitement. Hermione suddenly found herself swamped by girls and boys hugging and cheering her on, asking her loads of questions. Harry doubted she had even told anyone what she had done until that moment and she looked surprised and ecstatic.

 

“Third – to Mr. Neville Longbottom for extraordinary courage and pure nerve, I award Gryffindor house 60 points!”

 

The Gryffindor table nearly overturned itself with all the students rushing at Neville and trying to hoist him into the air, Ron was in the thick of it along with them but fortunately, they calmed down before they managed to hoist the blushing Neville above anyone's shoulders.

 

“Fourth – to Mr. Harry Potter, who has shown himself a true credit to his house, using both cunning and kindness in turn. For, it is one thing to come to a friend's aid and entirely another to cleverly come to a rival's. I award Slytherin house 60 points!”

 

For the second time that day Harry found himself awash in silver and green, surrounded by excited Slytherins and nearly lifted from his chair by a great big hug from Millicent Bulstrode. Theodore cheered and hooted as loud as he could and Malfoy banged his goblet on the table but even he couldn't hide his flushed cheeks and excitement. With all the points added up, the three houses Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied.

 

“It is with a great amount of surprise and honour that I bestow the house cup this year - for the first time in the school's thousand year history to three of the four Hogwarts houses. It is wise to remember beneath our rivalries and quidditch matches that house unity is the ultimate goal of our school and this year that goal has almost been reached by the four students I have mentioned here. Which means in the end, that we need is a little change of decoration.”

 

With a clap of his hands the Headmaster changed the blue and bronze banners into brightly coloured banners with a bronze eagle on the front wearing a green Slytherin scarf on a Gryffindor red background. Harry thought it looked very odd but he was a little too buried under jubilation to give it too much thought. Though some of Slytherin might be sore about a tie, the sting had been mollified with a historical Hogwarts first. This was something anyone could bring home proudly to their parents and Harry couldn't wait to bring home the news to his. He'd never, ever forget the night he spent in the common room with Malfoy, Theodore and a pack of brand new friends as a celebrated Slytherin hero.

 


	11. The Forbidden House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the two chapter summer interlude before second year begins, some foreshadowing is being laid down for those who are reading closely. For more information about Bergedwyld castle and Hadrian Nott in his prime, see Peter's chapter.

 

**The Forbidden House**

 

It only took a few weeks at home before Harry found himself awash with boredom once again. Considering he had still been recovering from his ordeal with Voldemort in the dungeons, he hadn't even gone home on the Hogwarts Express and had instead floo'd home from the Headmaster's office with his parents. Harry had recovered perfectly, his neck was much better and only a tiny purple smudge underneath his ear was left of the enormous hand print that had graced his neck previously. His stack of wizarding books had been quickly read and even Hermione would have been proud of the amount of homework he had done in the short time he had been home. The muggle neighborhood was quiet and full of rambling gardens and old row houses that looked exactly like the one Harry had lived in for the last few years. He could have befriended some of the children nearby but they were muggles and Harry hated watching what he could say and trying not to mention anything magical when that's what he had been reading and doing the entire year.

 

It was only a matter of time before Harry put his plan to meet Theodore into action.

 

It was a beautiful sunny day when Harry planned to scarper off to Theodore's house. Despite the dire warnings from Hermione Granger, there was no reason in Harry's mind why he shouldn't be allowed to visit his friend. None the less, Harry made sure he had an inside pocket in his jumper stuffed with a few bezoars that he had nicked from the kitchen's first aid kit when his Mum wasn't looking. It wasn't that Harry was afraid of Theodore's father, he told himself, it was that he was prepared for any contingency just as every Slytherin ought to be.

 

“Read to go to Millicent's?” Lily said.

 

“Yes,” Harry said, “I have my books and everything.”

 

“We're off then,” Lily said, extending her hand.

 

Harry grabbed hold and they walked all around the neighborhood until the muggles became sparse and then his Mum pulled out a portkey and they were pulled along until they were spat out onto a road near a forest. Harry only felt slightly dizzy.

 

“Hello, Mrs. Potter,” Millicent said.

 

“Afternoon Millicent,” Lily said, “I'm off to my appointment so I'll leave you both to it. Don't forget the portkey home, it's in your rucksack.”

 

“I know,” Harry said, “I've got it, I promise.”

 

Harry's mother aparrated away and Millicent smacked Harry's rucksack once she had gone.

 

“Good job!,” Millicent said, “Doesn't even suspect a thing. Theo's house is this way.”

 

There was a large gravel path through the woods and they set off on it into the shade of the trees that shivered slightly in the ocean breeze. Harry could hear the water crashing against rocks very far away and he wondered just how close Theo's house was to the seaside.

 

“Your Mum's really pretty,” Millicent said, “I saw pictures in the Prophet and all but I never met her in person before. Surprised your hair isn't red like hers.”

 

“Glad it isn't,” Harry said, “if it stuck up the same way I'd look like a Weasley after being electrocuted.”

 

Millicent snorted a laugh.

 

They made their way through shrubs and brambles along the same well worn path. Harry nearly tripped over enormous tree roots several times. The sunny part of the trees gave way to a deeper, darker part of the wood that reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. It was cooler and mossier and all the shade had kept the plants moist and emerald, their greenery untouched by the full brightness of the sun. There were many ferns and vines that covered the forest floor and Harry kept close to Millicent as the wild magic around them became stronger. They were in a wizarding forest proper and that meant anything could be hiding under the peaceful green boughs.

 

“It's just through here,” Millicent said, ducking under an enormous fern.

 

Harry dropped his head down and when he raised it up again he gasped in surprise. Almost hanging over a large cliff was the biggest, creepiest house Harry had ever laid eyes on. Down from the forested hill was a path pock marked by large, brutal looking stones that reminded Harry of a roughed up Stonehenge. Beneath the house was pounding, violent surf that raged against the seaweed covered rocks. The smell on the air was salty and strange, like fish gone off.

 

“Bergedwyld Castle,” Millicent said.

 

“What?” Harry said, it sounded almost like a sneeze.

 

“That's the name of the place,” she said, “it used to be a castle hundreds of years ago. Ask Theodore about it, he'll tell you everything. It's got a real gruesome history. There used to be executions regularly in the front yard.”

 

Harry shivered involuntarily but it wasn't from fear, it was from excitement. It was a real wizarding house, something that Harry hadn't seen much of as most modern buildings were a mix. The only other house he had seen in full had been the Weasleys and that had been a notch above a wizarding cottage. He couldn't wait to see the library.

 

“It's brilliant,” Harry said.

 

Millicent laughed, “wait until you see the inside. It's absolutely mad, explains a lot.”

 

“Explains a lot about what?” a voice said behind them.

 

Harry nearly jumped a mile, “Theodore!”

 

“All right there, Harry?” he said.

 

Like the weekends at school Theodore was dressed in simple gray wizarding robes and tough looking pale blue boots. Harry figured they must have been cooling robes because he was sweating under his green jumper and jeans.

 

“Is that how muggles dress?” Theodore asked, looking Harry up and down.

 

“Ehrm,” Harry said, feeling a little self conscious as Millicent as well wore witch's robes, “we had to pass through a neighborhood.”

 

“I'll leave you to it, then,” Millicent said, “Tracey invited me to tea.”

 

Milicent flushed and her olive skin took on a rosey look.

 

“How darling,” Theodore said, dryly, “come on, Harry. We'll go to the beach first. Sometimes grindylow skulls wash up.”

 

“Great!” Harry said, excitedly.

 

They made their way down treacherous rocks and seaweed covered boulders until the gravelly beach was under their feet. It was a lot nicer than it looked and Harry and Theodore ended up taking off their trainers and boots and walking along bare foot. They could wade ankle deep but only for a few minutes as even in the summer sun the Atlantic was frigid and cold early in the summer. Harry picked up interesting looking shells and pieces of sea urchins while Theodore found them a pile of grindylow skulls in a damp cave near the sea.

 

“I bet it flooded and when the tide came out the grindylows all got stuck and died,” Theodore said.

 

“Poor grindylows,” Harry said.

 

“Might as well benefit from nature's slaughter,” Theodore said, then he laughed in his mad way and kicked over some of the little skeletons.

 

Theodore tossed Harry several small skulls and he stuffed them in his satchel. They smelled a bit funny, like the sea and bad fish but he would clean them up when he got home and put them in his window sill to bleach.

 

After some hours the morning turned into a cloudy afternoon and dark rain clouds began moving in from the ocean. They meandered their way towards the house along a wooden path that must have been built many years ago, as it was so sun faded it was almost white. Their shoes and boots were put back on as the pathway turned into a forest and they made their way to Bergedwyld's stone archways just as the downpour began. Harry and Theodore ran all the way, squealing in the heavy rain. Though they could have cast repelling charms it was more fun without. They both burst into the house damp and laughing.

 

“Care for a drying charm?” Theodore said.

 

“Right,” Harry said, “I'll cast yours if you cast mine.”

 

They cast them and Theodore sniggered when Harry's hair fluffed up alarmingly from the sudden change in humidity.

 

“It always does that,” grumbled Harry as he patted it down.

 

“Glasses are fogged up,” Theodore cast another spell at them.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said.

 

The entryway was a cramped room filled with wizarding boots on racks and coats on hangers of various sizes. Some of them were covered in such a thick layer of dust Harry wondered if anyone had ever worn them in the last century. The wood walls were a pale gray as though they had been bleached by the sun that fell through the ripply glass windows.

 

“Leave your rucksack here,” Theodore said, “we'll fill it with books before you leave, I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said, he didn't give one thought to the portkey in his bag and abandoned it by the door.

 

They went tearing up the old wizarding stairs and Theodore moved at such a clip Harry had no doubt he had done it a thousand times before. Once they hit the landing Harry was again aware that this was indeed a very old wizarding house as the dozens of moving portraits on the walls attested.

 

“You there!” a portrait of a very old, decrepit looking wizard cried, “what are you doing tearing through the house at this hour?”

 

“It's past noon great-uncle Uisdean,” Theodore said, “go back to your settee and have a lie down.”

 

“Do they all have names like that?” Harry asked as they made their way leisurely down the hall, “they're quite a mouthful.”

 

“Bergedwyld was built at a time when everyone spoke Gaelic,” Theodore said, “everyone's got mad names in my family. Except my father, he was named by a great-great aunt or something. And Mum named me.”

 

“Is there a portrait,” Harry asked, “of your Mum on the walls?”

 

“In her room,” Theodore said, “I've asked a dozen times but...he won't put her out here with the rest of the family.”

 

Harry didn't bother to ask anymore about it since it seemed to make Theodore depressed.

 

“Do you have any portraits in your house?” Theodore said.

 

“Not even one,” Harry said, “but we have a whole vault of them at Gringott's. They used to be in some big manour house somewhere.”

 

“Rosedath, that was it's name. It was rebuilt twice,” Theodore said, “come here.”

 

They sprinted into a gloomy parlour room decorated in a gruesome, gothic floral style that Harry was sure had gone out in the sixteenth century. The chairs looked like torture devices and had twisted animal heads on their feet and the wood fireplace had an angry looking wizard's face carved into the stone grate that sat spitefully in front of it. There were piles of books everywhere and Harry was dismayed to notice, old cups of tea with fuzz growing in them. The room also had three enormous picture windows heavily decorated with red velvet curtains that looked over the roaring ocean.

 

“Look to the right,” Theodore said.

 

Harry strained his neck and leaned heavily on the window ledge and noticed another cliff side quite some distance away. It was clear of all trees and had the same rocky beach but was much higher on the hill.

 

“That's where the Potters used to live about four hundred years ago,” Theodore said, “Dad told me there was a dispute in the family and the Slytherin side got trapped inside the house and everyone was burned alive, except a boy who hid in the basement. And he went stark raving mad after they dug him out.”

 

“Slytherins?” Harry gasped, “No one ever told me that!”

 

“It's not common knowledge,” Theodore said, “but I bet if you ask some of those portraits they'd tell you the story better than I could. Look for the ones that are singed next time, they'd have been through the fire.”

 

“I will,” Harry said, “I didn't know there had been so many Slytherins in my family.”

 

“Most families are never one house sorts,” Theodore said, “my family was split up between Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Can you imagine? If I'd have been sorted into Hufflepuff, I would have gone straight back home on the Hogwarts train. Even Malfoy's ancestors were originally all sorted Ravenclaw, not that he'd ever admit it.”

 

Harry laughed, “there's no way any of us would have ever ended up in Hufflepuff. Everyone thought for sure I'd be a Gryffindor, though.”

 

“Are they still upset?” Theodore asked.

 

“Not really,” Harry said, “awfully worried about what sort of friends I'm making.”

 

Theodore scoffed, “always are, that's what family is for.”

 

“Caring?” Harry asked.

 

“I was thinking more like, drawing erroneous conclusions,” Theodore sniggered, “come on, to the library.”

 

They left the ugly room with its awful red hangings and wandered down dingy looking hallways filled with gloomy, dusty family portraits. The wood was very grayed and Harry began to wonder just how much of the large house was actually occupied, as quite a few rooms had been boarded up in a poor way with old bits of wood and tinder. The wind howled through some of them as though it would, if allowed, tear the entire manor house apart.

 

“Here it is,” Theodore said, at last.

 

With a flourish he hauled open an enormous wooden door that led into the biggest library Harry had ever seen outside of Hogwarts.

 

“Second floor is a bit dotty,” Theodore said, “the floor on the right side has collapsed so you have to go around from the other side to get to it. And that spot over there with the bent floorboards, all the books on that ledge are mouldy.”

 

The smell was overpowering and Harry fought not to cough in its overwhelming miasma. It finally became apparent where Theodore's unique bouquet during school had its origins, all of his papers and books and everything else had come from this room. The furniture that was sitting around the fireplace looked modern and much more comfortable. There were no mouldering cups of tea, instead a shining silver tea set was on a small table between two overstuffed chairs that were gray in colour. Everything was well dusted on the bottom floor, the second however, looked quite a bit worse for wear.

 

It didn't deter Harry as he took the stairs two at a time on the unbroken side. Theodore quickly followed and they began pouring through books on all sorts of subjects. Nothing was hidden and Harry founds books on intimate spells between wizards and witches stacked alongside elementary books on transfiguration. The filthier books had horrifying illustrations on the inside that moved and Harry gave them a wide berth since after the initial thrill he felt mildly sick while looking at them.

 

“Here's one of my favourites,” Theodore said.

 

Harry looked over Theodore's shoulder at a book all about conjuring serpents.

 

“ _Serpensortia_?” Harry said, “what's that other one do? It looks nastier.”

 

“Conjures fake basilisk eyes,” Theodore said, “causes fear and madness.”

 

“Wicked,” Harry said, “wish we could conjure our own basilisk.”

 

“Too much effort to grow one ourselves though I'm sure that gamekeeper at Hogwarts has tried. The spells are all illusions and things, not real transfigurations” Theodore said, “but the pictures are mad brilliant.”

 

There were of course many pictures of what might happen if the spells went wrong and unfortunate wizards and witches were being devoured by loads of serpents or chewed on by enormous snakes. Harry winced when one wizard was violently bitten in two by an enormous set of snake jaws.

 

Far off inside the house a door had closed and Harry heard footsteps along the hallways. There was a pause at the library door and Harry startled when Theodore jammed his elbow at him.

 

“Dad's home,” Theodore said, cheerfully, “means lunch is on. We can come back after.”

 

Theodore tossed his book onto one of the other teetering stacks and hauled Harry down the steps after him. While they were walking towards the dining room, Harry heard someone shouting.

 

“Dobby!” the rough voice said, “how many times-! Disgraceful!”

 

The conversation carried on in muffled tones, Harry heard a distinctly high pitched squeaking that sounded like an answer.

 

“House elf,” Theodore said, “more trouble than they're worth really. But until we get a family of the little beasts to move in here, not much we can do about the place.”

 

“Why wouldn't they want to move in,” Harry asked, “I thought all house elves lived to serve their families.”

 

Theodore scoffed, “sort of, though the one Malfoy sends over to us is borderline mutinous. House elves don't have many children very often so to get a whole new family of them takes a lot of work. And my Dad isn't known for forgiving elves who make mistakes so I think the Malfoy's lot are drawing straws or something.”

 

“Malfoy lends them to you?” Harry said.

 

“Draco's father,” Theodore said, “he's a pompous prick but he owes Dad all sorts of stuff for his stay in Azkaban.”

 

Harry giggled a bit at hearing Theodore swear. But it suddenly struck Harry that he was actually in a house that was home to a notable dark wizard and the gray and gloomy walls, depressing décor and morbid spell books that were all great fun only moments before, suddenly turned sinister. Bergedwyld Castle was a place where terrible things had happened, Millicent had said so herself. And since Harry hadn't had a moment to ask Theodore about it, his imagination was running wild with all sorts of mad things.

 

“This way,” Theodore said, as he tugged Harry's sleeve.

 

They went through a set of large, stately doors that looked like they had been added to the house recently as they were still brown and shiny like ordinary wood. The dining room was large but still managed to be cramped as an enormous wooden table that looked like it had crawled out of a muggle horror film occupied the center of the room. It had twisted legs that were carved with evil looking masks in various expressions of disgust, horror, joy and laughter. There were portraits covering almost every inch of the walls that weren't occupied by tea tables covered in dust and chests that were spilling with table clothes, cutlery and other things. The table was clean and shiny but everything else looked like it had been ransacked a hundred years ago and left that way every since.

 

“Who in the world is that, young Nott?” a portrait of a wizard wearing an enormous powdered wig asked.

 

“This is Harry,” Theodore said, “Harry Potter. He's in Slytherin house with me.”

 

“Slytherin!” the whispering went up and down the walls, “a Potter in Slytherin!”

 

“I always knew they'd turn out right in the end,” a thin looking witch in an elaborate black dress said, as she reclined on an enormous green chaise, “once all that bad business was over with and I told my old Edelwyrd that-.”

 

“Miss Black,” a rather haggard looking old wizard interrupted, as he creaked from his library chair, “that bad business was over four hundred years ago. It's been done with for a very long time! Do be quiet and let the young master enjoy his lunch.”

 

Harry clamped his hand over his face as he sniggered.

 

“Oh shut up,” Theodore said, “I don't like it either. Makes me sound like Malfoy with his big manour house and all that rubbish.”

 

Theodore took a chair next to the head of the table and pulled out another chair for Harry that he wiped with his hand to remove the dust. It did very little but Harry didn't bother much about it as the dust was so old on the chair it very likely wouldn't have moved no matter how long Harry sat in it. He took his seat and the nervously waited. It was with sudden and direct clarity that Harry realized he would be sitting down to lunch with Hadrian Nott, this wasn't something he had exactly prepared for and he was quite glad he'd stuffed bezoars in his pocket just in case.

 

“Blasted elf!” a door at the other end of the room opened and Hadrian Nott emerged.

 

Harry gripped the edge of his chair and tried to appear as calm as possible, it was miraculous his teeth weren't chattering because Hadrian Nott – he looked like something out of a Grimm's fairy story.

 

Hadrian Nott was tall,bony and thin very much like Theodore but he also looked older than Dumbledore and fifty times more decrepit. He had great lines around his pale, wan face surrounded by long, disheveled gray hair. His back was a bit bent which made him slouch as he limped towards the table. He had on gray wizarding robes similar to Theodore but his eyes were much meaner and they scanned the room with a clear, devious intelligence. His eyes landed on Harry and crinkled in amusement.

 

Hadrian Nott creaked into his chair with a great groan, no matter how he sat he looked uncomfortable.

 

“That's Potter's boy, is it?” Hadrian croaked, “Wish I could have seen his face, when he got word where his son was sorted.”

 

Hadrian Nott's fist slammed on the table and Harry jumped nearly a mile from his chair.

 

“The best house, the highest honour for a half-blood!” Hadrian hissed, he calmed momentarily, “Theodore, have you shown him the library?”

 

It was with a strange sort of apprehension that Harry noticed Theodore acting as though this were a usual family gathering and nothing was amiss.

 

“Course,” Theodore said, “Harry's placed top in his year, he's very clever.”

 

“Has he really,” Hadrian said, his sharp gray gaze focused on Harry.

 

“Y-yes,” Harry said, flushing as he stuttered.

 

Hadrian Nott laughed and Harry flinched, it sounded as though saws were being played like instruments.

 

“I can tell he's scared out of his wits,” Hadrian said, “but he's braver than Malfoy's boy, smarter too. I thought your little friend was going to wet his seat when he sat at our table. What's your secret? Why are you so brave Potter?”

 

Harry wasn't sure if this was a rhetorical question or not, until Theodore smacked Harry's arm under the table.

 

“I've got bezoars in my pocket,” Harry blurted.

 

There was a tense moment when Hadrian gave Harry a surprised look but then, the terrible sound of saws started up once more and Hadrian was laughing. He slammed his fist on the table again, as though he couldn't contain his mirth.

 

“I like this boy, Theodore!” Hadrian said, “Stick with my boy Potter, he's smart as a whip. He'll take you far in Slytherin, further than that brat Malfoy.”

 

“Dad,” Theodore groaned, “you're embarrassing me!”

 

“Hush up,” Hadrian said, “Dobby! You great cretin, where's the sandwiches!”

 

The food appeared on the table, a large plate of delicious looking sandwiches and a large porcelain bowl of soup. Individual steaming bowls appeared in front of the three diners and Harry was delighted to smell such delicious food as it drowned out the musty smells coming from the chests behind him.

 

“Go on, Potter” Hadrian said, “we don't poison our guests on the first visit but the third one is fair game. Isn't that right old Uncle Murchadh? You should have sat at his table in the seventeens, that would be enough to give anyone a fright. Killed three wizards and their families all in one night. The rest remembered that dinner and you can bet the next family gathering was held with a great deal more respect towards our great-great old Uncle!”

 

Hadrian wheezed a laugh out again and some of the portraits tittered along with him. Harry felt a bit like he was on display. That it was all a fun and pleasant game to the Nott's ancestors watching him writhe in discomfort at their dinner table.

 

It was a good thing Harry was so hungry otherwise he wasn't sure if he would have had the courage to grab some sandwiches to put on his plate. The soup was a thick beef and it was quite delicious, almost as fine as Hogwarts. Theodore and Hadrian ate quickly and greedily and Harry realized where Theodore had picked up his lazy table manners. In fact, a great many things about Theodore's personality had become quite clear to Harry over his visit especially Theodore's barmy laugh, which had apparently been inherited. Harry noticed as Hadrian Nott grabbed another sandwich that on his finger sat a very odd looking gold ring.

 

“Admiring it, are you?” Hadrian said.

 

Harry snapped his gaze away, he hadn't realized he'd been staring.

 

“It was a gift from the Head Boy of Slytherin when I was a lad,” Hadrian went on, “we were the best of friends during school. I miss those days, thought we were really going to get somewhere, we did.”

 

A wispy, fond look moved across Hadrian Nott's ghastly face.

 

“He looked a bit like you, Potter,” Hadrian said, “all that black hair and a quick look about him. Never smiled much either, was a much more serious sort.”

 

It apparently hadn't entered Hadrian's mind that Harry might not be smiling because he was frightened.

 

“W-what happened to him,” Harry asked.

 

Hadrian sneered, “got himself killed over a divination gone bad. Terrible waste.”

 

Harry noticed that Theodore had looked a bit worried for the first time during their entire lunch and had begun to play with the remains of his soup in a nervous way.

 

When the food had been finished the plates had disappeared and with a pop and been replaced by a large, elaborate looking hookah.

 

“Ah yes,” Hadrian said, his eyes roving over it excitedly, “it isn't lunch without a top up. Run along with your friend Theodore, I have business in an hour. Dinner at Malfoy's tonight, he'll come fetch you.”

 

They had hardly left the table before Hadrian had pulled out his wand and was filling the dining room with smoke, Harry also realized that was where the other smell on Theodore's clothes had come from. The entire house must have been steeped in the strange smelling stuff after every meal.

 

“I'll show you my room,” Theodore said, his cheer returning.

 

Harry found himself tearing up the stairs after Theodore once again, their feet making loud thumping on the wood as they ran. There were many rooms boarded up but one had its door open and Harry knew immediately it was Theodore's as there were papers half pouring into the hallway.

 

“This whole wing is mine,” Theodore said, “not much here though, mostly closed up rooms and a bathroom the size of a closet. Dad has the good one on the other side but I can do whatever I want here.”

 

The room was a respectable size and held a large, four posted bed with wood decorated in the same monstrous looking masks the dining room had had downstairs. The bed curtains were blue in some places and so faded they were a nasty looking gray in others. The window was rippled and it looked over the pounding surf below. The sound of the ocean echoed in the room, along with a great deal of scampering from a covered cage in the corner.

 

“Doxys,” Theodore said, proudly, “so I can practice my spells.”

 

Harry was envious, he'd never had any pets despite his great interest in magical creatures. Not that doxys were much of a pet as they had a tendency to breed behind curtains and in old beds causing havoc in wizarding houses.

 

There were also enormous mounds of papers and notes that nearly covered Theodore's floor. Harry carefully stepped over the precarious piles and took in the Balleycastle Bats banner messily taped to the wall and a bunch of wizarding photographs piled on Theodore's night stand table facing his bed. They mostly featured the same thin blond woman holding up books in her Ravenclaw uniform or surrounded by other girls. There was one that looked like a wedding picture and Harry was quite shocked by how healthy Hadrian Nott had looked over thirty years ago, as he'd almost not recognized him.

 

“What's wrong with your Dad,” Harry said, “is he sick?”

 

Theodore sighed and shrugged.

 

“He hasn't been well since- my mum. She mentioned you, years ago,” Theodore said quietly, “When I was old enough to understand, I was so angry she'd died and left things the way they were.”

 

Harry gingerly sat on the bed as Theodore plunked himself down on the floor.

 

“When I got to Hogwarts, I thought,” Theodore said, “here's this trumped up Potter who's still got his Mum and his father's this big hero while mine was-not doing so well. I was determined to hate you but I dunno, just didn't seem to stick.”

 

Harry swallowed thickly, “I'm sorry. But I'm glad it didn't stick.”

 

Theodore smiled crookedly as he twisted some parchment in his hands. There was a heavy silence until Theodore shredded his parchment, the rip loud in the quiet room.

 

Words suddenly poured out of Theodore as though he couldn't stop himself, “Not surprised you noticed. I don't have to tell you that Dad isn't getting any better, anyone who looks at him can see that. Keeps going on about his old school chum. I'm so sick of hearing about that head boy, Tom Riddle! I think he died in a terrible way, it must have upset Dad something awful because with Mum gone, he's all alone now and he misses when things were better. Those years in Azkaban probably didn't help, I lived with Malfoy you know until Dad came back. That's why we're friends despite Dad hating the lot of them. He doesn't like anyone much nowadays.”

 

“Are you afraid of your Dad?” Harry said.

 

“Not really,” Theodore snorted, “He's my Dad he loves me. But sometimes he- he gets angry.”

 

Harry noticed that Theodore's bottom lip began to tremble.

 

“So, so angry. I hear him screaming downstairs sometimes late at night. One time I went downstairs to see what he was shouting at and there wasn't anything there. He was raving at the air. Sometimes he goes into Mum's old room and cries for hours and begs his old schoolmate to help him. Don't tell anyone I said that, but it's terrifying.”

 

“I won't say a thing,” Harry said, “you can trust me.”

 

“Anyway,” Theodore said, “it wasn't so bad until he brought out that old ring and began wearing it around the house. I think it was the only thing Riddle left him, all those memories attached to it are probably making him batty. I wish...I wish he'd thrown it away. Forgotten about it for a while.”

 

The parchment in Theodore's hand was being crumpled into pieces.

 

“Can't anyone help him,” Harry said, “does he have family, besides you of course?”

 

Theodore shook his head, “I never met them, but Dad's Aunt and Uncle raised him after his parents died and they were- quite horrible to him, actually. They wanted the house. I never heard the whole story but old Mulciber was talking at Malfoy's one time. I guess they used to starve Dad and torment him and things. I think they were hoping he'd kill himself and leave everything to them. That boy Riddle helped him out at Hogwarts probably, maybe helped him get revenge. Might be why he misses him so much, Dad's never made friends very easily according to the portraits.”

 

“What happened to the Aunt and Uncle,” Harry asked, nervously.

 

“I don't know,” Theodore said, “but their portraits aren't on the walls and nobody ever talks about them. They had a little boy too and he's never been heard of again. It was quite a nasty thing they did, Notts don't take betrayal lightly.”

 

Harry felt a chill on the air.

 

“I'll keep that in mind,” Harry said, with a weak laugh.

 

Theodore sniggered and then turned quite serious.

 

“I wish I could help my Dad but when I bring it up he turns nasty,” Theodore said, “says he can't betray Riddle's memory and all this rot. That I should be lucky to be born a pure-blood Nott and not a half-blood or worse. I'm not him, I'm not as into all that stuff as he was but he doesn't understand. Gets angry instead...”

 

The confusion and fear that fluttered across Theodore's face made Harry feel quite upset. He wished he could spirit Theodore away from the grim and awful house even for a few hours. It must have been like a prison with his Dad going mental all the time with nothing to be done about it. And visits to Malfoy manour wouldn't do much as Harry quite doubted that Theodore would have ever said anything to Draco Malfoy, unless it ended up all over the school come September.

 

“I know you're not the same,” Harry said, “knew it from the start.”

 

There was a strange noise downstairs that made them both jump.

 

“Someone's tripped the wards,” Theodore said, his eyes going wide, “better investigate.”

 

Theodore took out his wand and Harry followed suit. He doubted they'd be charged with underage magic in Bergedwyld castle, none the less Harry felt a certain forbidden thrill at the possibility he'd be casting magic outside of Hogwarts without his Mum watching.

 

Down the creaky old stairs they went until they saw the door open in the library.

 

“House elf?” Harry said, hopefully.

 

“They aparrate,” Theodore reminded him, his hand was shaking.

 

Harry steeled himself for whatever horrors they might face as they went into the darkened library, wands at the ready.

 

“Harry!”

 

They both nearly jumped out of their skin, fortunately the voice was easily recognizable.

 

“Dad!” Harry said, surprised.

 

James Potter appeared out of no where with his wand pointing at Theodore, who made a terrible choked squeaking sound.

 

“What do you think you're doing,” James snapped, “at Bergedwyld castle!”

 

“Plotting Slytherin world domination,” Harry said, cheekily, “what else?”

 

Theodore let out a snigger but tried to stop himself and maintain a serious expression.

 

The stormy look on his father's face warned Harry that anymore cracks would not be appreciated.

 

“You're to come home this instant,” James said, “with me. And you-”

 

James pointed his wand at Theodore, who went pale and shaky.

 

“Aren't to ask him to go anywhere near your house again,” James said, “or it won't just be me who shows up on your doorstep but the auror department instead.”

 

“Why,” Harry said, aghast, “Theodore hasn't done anything!”

 

“Quiet Harry,” James said, “we're going. Get your rucksack.”

 

Harry looked aghast between Theodore who was growing paler by the minute and his Dad who was still pointing his wand at his eleven year old friend.

  
“Put your wand down,” Harry shouted, “it's upsetting him! He lives with me in Slytherin house for goodness sakes, his bed is right next to mine! If he was dangerous I'd be dead long since first-year!”

 

That seemed to have shaken Harry's father from his stupour and he slowly dropped his wand. James seemed somewhat rattled and that made Harry nervous, it wasn't as though there was anything in the house that was actually dangerous. It was just an old creepy mansion, probably not half as terrifying as the strange places his Dad had been as an auror. Hadrian Nott wasn't even home and probably hadn't been for at least two hours.

 

Harry quickly made his way to the front door and grabbed his rucksack and ran back. Not a moment too soon as James had his wand pointed at Theodore again, who was shaking.

 

“Dad!” Harry said.

 

“I was just getting him a book,” Theodore said, sullenly.

 

From under his robe Theodore tossed Harry a rather thick, black book with a gnarled leather cover.

 

“Dark creatures,” Theodore said, “your favourite subject.”

 

From Harry's hands the book was snatched by James who stuffed it into his robes and gave Theodore a rather suspicious look.

 

“Bye Theo,” Harry said, sadly, “ sorry about all this. See you at school.”

 

“It was worth it,” Theodore said, “see you in the snake pit.”

 

Harry waved but James was already dragging him by his jumper collar out through the dark hallways and down through the entryway into the dark gray afternoon. The rain had passed and the sun was begrudgingly peeking from behind the clouds. After leaving the house James hauled Harry along at a rather alarming clip but Harry knew better than to argue. He'd never seen his Dad this mad before, Harry couldn't actually remember the last time he'd really been cross at all.

 

“I cannot fathom why you did this,” James said, “do you have your portkey?”

 

Harry pulled the skeleton key with a red ribbon on it from his bag.

 

“Hold on,” James said.

 

They both were tugged through close to their muggle neighborhood. James quickly took off his wizarding robe revealing normal muggle jeans and an old Gryffindor quidditch team sweatshirt underneath. The image of the lion had stopped moving ages ago and it was old and faded, possibly even from James' school days.

 

“We're going to stop before going home,” James said, “we're going to have an ice cream.”

 

Harry blinked, ice creams were usually treats not punishments.

 

The muggle shop was mostly empty as it was a cool day and not many children were in the mood for frozen treats when it wasn't hot outside. Harry was directed to sit at a red and white table near the back while his Dad ordered them chocolate sundaes. They sat together and Harry picked at his food while James shoveled mouthful after mouthful into his mouth until it seemed whatever had rattled Harry's father so badly, had passed.

 

After wiping his chin with some napkins he then regarded Harry very seriously.

 

“I can't even begin to describe how dangerous that was. I don't care if Theodore Nott is your friend, his father is dangerous and goes insane if anyone so much as mentions my name around him. Did you know what he did when one of his old school friends offered condolences? He tortured them for their trouble in Knockturn Alley! That you got out of there alive is a miracle!”

 

Harry wisely thought it was best not to mention he'd had lunch sitting at a table with Hadrian Nott and Theodore without incident.

 

“But Dad-!” Harry said, “I was with Theodore the entire time!”

 

James looked extremely pained, “Harry, I know this is difficult to understand but some children in Slytherin, as fine as they may be, have parents who have done horrendous things and they are just like you- eleven years old! They can't control their parents, they can't keep you safe from them.”

 

“Nothing happened,” Harry said, “did it? Everything was fine.”

 

“When you finish,” James said, “we're going to go home. Not a word to your mother, you understand? She's got enough on her plate as it is. Padfoot was wandering all over the countryside, did you know he stopped at the Bulstrodes to check up on you? Imagine the shock when you weren't there, Millicent had gone to Tracey's and her parents knew nothing about you ever coming at all.”

 

Harry gulped and enjoyed his chocolate ice cream while he still had some cheer left in him. It wasn't a surprise that Millicent hadn't told anyone about Harry's visit, as she would have probably gotten in as much trouble.

 

“We thought that you'd been kidnapped! Or worse! Padfoot is going to want a word with you,” James said, “and let me make this clear; we're very unhappy you lied to us like this. Bad enough you went exactly where you weren't supposed to, you told a pack of fibs to get there.”

 

“Wouldn't have let me go otherwise,” Harry said, miserably.

 

“Harry!” James said, frustrated, “that's the point! You weren't allowed to go for a reason! Imagine how Padfoot felt when he thought you were missing! Imagine how I'd have felt if something had happened!”

 

Harry felt like crying into his ice cream. His Dad being angry was bad enough but Padfoot too, was much worse. They finished their ice cream in a tense silence and then they were off towards Harry's house on foot.

 

When they arrived at the house Harry's Mum had already been home for some time and glanced from James to Harry with a curious look on her face.

 

“Hello,” she said, “how was Millicent's?”

 

Harry looked at the floor and said, “fine.”

 

The tension was so thick in the air it could have been used as butter.

 

“Better go on and see Padfoot,” James said in an overly cheery tone.

 

Harry suddenly felt sick.

 

“Why is it,” Harry said, “you told me not to fib and now you're telling another one? I didn't go to Millicent's I went to Theodore's because no one would have let me otherwise! And I sat at the dinner table with Hadrian Nott and nothing happened, it would have been fine except Dad appeared out of no where at his house and scared Theodore and I half to death!”

 

Harry bolted from the room knowing full well his Dad would be in loads of trouble and could already hear his Mum shouting as he ran up the stairs to his room. He didn't even bother looking for Sirius, instead he smashed his face into his pillow and screamed his frustrations into it. The commotion downstairs didn't even register as he sobbed fitfully on his bed.

 

“Life's awfully unfair, isn't it?” Sirius said.

 

Harry glanced up from his tear sodden pillow, his Uncle had come in and sat down on his bed without him noticing. Harry's bedroom was an odd mix of colours, he had various quidditch posters on his wall and his curtains had been blue for a long time, since he had been hoping to be sorted into Ravenclaw. His bedspread was yellow and had mermaids chasing plimpy's and tying up their legs, it was a loud rainbow that was normally very cheering.

 

“That was a rotten thing you did,” Sirius said, “worse to shout at your Mum like that.”

 

“Everyone lies,” Harry spat, “what's the difference when I do it?”

 

Harry turned red and then mashed his face into the pillow. It had been a momentary satisfaction to tell his Mum everything but now that the anger had faded he felt horrible and ashamed he had done it instead. Perhaps it was better to glue his mouth shut with some of Hagrid's infamous fudge before he said anything more.

 

“You don't mean that,” Sirius said, reasonably, “we didn't raise you up to do those things. Sit up, let's talk.”

 

From his position, Harry scrambled up and sat next to Padfoot who immediately hugged him. Instead of making him feel better, it made Harry feel infinitely more guilty.

 

“Do you have any idea what we thought?” Sirius said, “When you hadn't even been to the Bulstrodes? I went to find James and I thought, that's it- someone's finished the job You-Know-Who started and murdered my godson.”

 

“M'sorry,” Harry mumbled from a smothering hug.

 

Sirius sighed, “Did you really sit there and have lunch with Hadrian Nott?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said.

 

“What was it like,” Sirius asked him.

 

“Barking mad,” Harry said, knowing it would make Sirius laugh.

 

Padfoot let out a chuckle and held Harry close, he supposed they would be all right now.

 

“If you think you've got it bad from your Dad, just wait until your Mum gets a hold of you,” Padfoot said, “might have blasted yourself in the foot with that one.”

 

Harry tensed, his godfather had made quite a good point. But at least he had been to Theodore's house and it was an experience that he would remember for quite some time.

 

“I had a brother in Slytherin,” Sirius said, “it went badly. Don't make the same mistakes he did, you can't ever trust a snake to look out for anyone but themselves.”

 

“I'm in Slytherin too,” Harry said, quietly.

 

Padfoot hugged him tighter.

 

“I know,” Sirius said, sadly.

 

 


	12. The Absent Brother

**The Absent Brother**

 

The most unexpected thing had happened while Harry had been reading in the back garden. One moment he had been reading one of Theodore's books about vampire rituals in the Romanian countryside and the next a man in a dark, hooded cloak suddenly appeared and dropped a few feet from the rose bushes. The man had splattered the parchment inside Harry's book with little red dots that were likely the stranger's own blood.

 

“Ah!” Harry cried.

 

An ugly old house elf had aparrated right next to Harry and grabbed his arm while it sobbed disgustingly on Harry's shirt sleeve.

 

“Please to be getting Master's Sirius Black!” it wailed piteously, “Please to be getting him, so he's can help my master!”

 

The book quickly abandoned, Harry leaped from his sun warmed stone and fled into the house.

 

“Mum!” Harry cried, “Padfoot! There's a strange man and a mad house elf in the garden!”

 

“A what?” Lily said.

 

“What did you say?” Sirius said, as he thundered down the stairs.

 

The way his hair was mussed, Harry correctly assumed Padfoot had fallen asleep as a dog upstairs in a spot of sun.

 

“In the garden!” Harry said.

 

“Stay right here,” Sirius said, “don't move until we call an all clear.”

 

Harry had been taught what to do in case of an emergency so he fled to the kitchen and peered into the dining room where the doorway led to the outside. Lily and Sirius drew their wands and slowly made their way towards the back door.

 

“Kreacher!” Sirius cried, “What are you doing out of Grimmauld Pla-”

 

But the cry suddenly wrenched from Sirius was something that made Harry jump in surprise and knock his elbow into the big china cabinet. Sirius fled through the door and though the sun was very bright, Harry could make out Sirius grasping at the unfortunate man in the black robes. Harry also regretfully noticed the red blood that had spattered across the grass after his landing.

 

“Sirius!” Lily said, “Don't worry, I'll get St. Mungo's and the aurors. Stay with him! Try to keep him warm!”

 

There were many floo calls made and Harry tried to stay out of the way so he could at least watch the strange happenings in his house without being shooed to his bedroom. The house elf in its grimy clothes sat at the kitchen table and remained mute even when various aurors demanded answers and even after Sirius threatened it with all sorts of abuse. It looked ancient and Harry almost felt bad for it until he heard it mutter 'mudblood filth' under its breath when his Mum offered it a cup of tea. The injured man had been moved to an upstairs room and several healers from St Mungo's were attending to him.

 

“Is it really him?” Lily asked Sirius, as they sat down to tea.

 

“It's that or polyjuice,” Sirius said, “we'll know one way or the other soon.”

 

Sirius wasn't eating his biscuits or drinking his tea and was instead staring off into space with a wretched look on his face.

 

“Uhm,” Harry said, “who is he?”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Lily said, “It's well- ehrm.”

 

“My brother,” Sirius said flatly, “my sodding, idiot-.”

 

“Masters Sirius has no right,” the elf suddenly shrieked, “to be insulting Master Regulus!”

 

It was a name Harry hadn't heard in a very long while. Some time ago Harry had overheard that Sirius' brother, Regulus Black, had vanished around the time he had graduated from Hogwarts to the misery of their mother, the terrifying Walburga Black.

 

“I've got every right you filthy, rubbish laden ghoul!” Sirius shouted, “Go back to that hell house and leave us alone!”

 

The matter had apparently driven Walburga Black quite mad which had then led to an early death for the elderly witch. Despite her dreadful fate, no one had actually found Regulus' body or any indication of what had happened to him. Whatever evidence the Black family had received in secret had been enough for the frail Mrs. Black to assume the worst. The old house had been abandoned after her death as Sirius and Narcissa fought over its disposal, occasionally Sirius and Harry's father would travel to Gringott's together to fight the inheritance law but no one ever seemed to win on either side.

 

“Kreacher doesn't have to do anything you says!” the house elf howled back, “You isn't the Master of anything!”

 

“Unless he dies tonight!” Sirius roared, “It would serve him right for what he's done!”

 

The elf began to wail piteously, it's horrible wrinkled face scrunched up into a hideous expression while it sobbed onto its wrinkly apron.

 

The fireplace in the dining room made a raucous noise and Harry wasn't surprised to see his Dad step out from it as he brushed soot off of his robes.

 

“I got here as quick as I could. The department wasn't telling me anything at all, just that there was a family emerg- is that Kreacher?” James said, surprised.

 

Sirius said, “We've found him at last!”

 

“Still alive? You're joking!” James said, “But that means Regulus must have gone into hiding for over a decade!”

 

“We'll see how much hiding he's done when the aurors are through with him,” Sirius said, darkly.

 

The rest of the evening was almost as chaotic, aurors came and went as well as St Mungo's staff. Harry was allowed to stay up late as it was impossible to sleep in his room with so much movement going on upstairs. While normally he would have gleefully watched the muggle telly until the very late hours Harry found himself listening in on curious conversations instead.

 

“Do you think he's seen,” a young auror whispered to James, “what's left of You-Know-Who?”

 

“I don't know,” James said, “the sooner he's gone from this house the better, whether he has or not. It's not safe having him here, we don't know what he's been up to.”

 

“Won't St. Mungo's take him?” another auror asked, it was honestly what Harry had been wondering about as well.

 

“Too badly injured, would be worse to move him. Choice was here or Grimmauld and you can bet that old heap is a last resort.”

 

After the din had died down James set up a bed on the couch in the living room for Harry so that he could be away from all the commotion upstairs and still get some sleep.

 

“I'm not really that tired,” Harry said, before yawning rather loudly.

 

“Right,” James said, smugly, “we'll just set you up here then and you can stay awake all you like.”

 

From the sideboard in the living room Harry helped removed numerous blankets and pillows and James used his wand to make the couch into a more comfortable bed. It was impossible to keep himself awake as it was past two in the morning, Harry fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

“Where's Mum and Padfoot?” Harry mumbled, sleepily.

 

“They'll be downstairs when they can,” James said, “sleep tight, don't let the puffskeins bite.”

 

“Puffskeins don't bite,” Harry managed, before he drifted off.

 

The sounds in the living room faded and shimmered in and out along with half remembered dreams. Figures flickered along the edges of Harry's closed eyes. He could see a very strange, dark figure in front of him with great big, red eyes. There was a slight pressure on his neck then Harry opened his eyes, surprised to see a grim figure standing next to his makeshift bed.

 

It was a shock when his sight adjusted to the sudden dark because it looked like at first a skeleton was looming over him with its wand pointed at his neck. Harry had shouted, or tried to but no sound had come from him at all. The figure became more obvious, it was a man in a dark cloak and mask. That was when Harry knew exactly why he hadn't made a sound, he had been silenced by the stranger's spell. The mask and the cloak drew up memories from Hermione's lectures and his father's description of the Wizarding wars, this wasn't an ordinary wizard but a death eater.

 

“Keep yourself calm,” the voice said, “no harm will come to you that way. I'm only after the man upstairs.”

 

Harry was ousted off the couch and he walked into the dining room with a wand pointed at his back. Another man in a similar cloak and mask came in from the right.

 

“What are you doing?” he demanded, “that wasn't in the plans, remember what the old codger said. No harming the boy.”

 

“He's insurance,” the other man said, “I'm not going to hurt him. But just in case auror Potter comes downstairs, I'll have something to throw at him.”

 

“It's mad what we're doing,” the man continued, “absolutely off our heads to try it, putting on these masks again.”

 

“Shut up!” the cloaked man snarled, “some of us don't live off of trust funds. Ever try to get a job when you're a known criminal? Pretty bleeding tough, that is.”

 

“Stuff it Crabbe,” the man said, “you've always lived with your Mum in her grand manour house, a little bit of pocket change hardly makes a difference.”

 

“Oh, now you've done it. Sure thing _MacNair_ ,” the man hissed, “now the sprog knows the both of us, don't you?”

 

The man named MacNair jabbed his wand against Harry's throat but he couldn't cry out from the pain and instead tried to write away from it. The grip on his arm was too strong and Harry felt his shoulder twist painfully in an iron strong grip.

 

“Might be better if we kill him then,” Crabbe said.

 

“Oh no,” MacNair replied, “as fun as it'd be, I know what our old friend's like when we get our own way. Skin still feels crispy from the last hex I got- and you won't laugh Crabbe if you know what's good for you. I'll take the Dark Lord any day over that mad old bugger in his death trap house. Now march ahead, littlun, we've got thievery to do.”

 

“And if we're lucky, murderin,” Crabbe laughed dully.

 

With a hard tug on his sore arm, MacNair dragged Harry along at a slow creep. They made it all the way into the dining room, past the big china cabinet until bad timing marred the way. Just as Crabbe was about to slouch up the stairs, a healer came from the kitchen at the same time. The young healer was taken by surprise as much as Crabbe and they stood and looked at one another in shock for a few tense seconds.

 

“We've got the boy,” MacNair said, obviously the quicker of the two, “don't make a move or he gets it!”

 

The healer stood stock still and glanced at Harry who jerked his head towards the very large china cabinet behind them. Joyously, the message was received and the healer quickly got out their wand and sent the china cabinet crashing on MacNair as Harry fled. The whole ordeal was over in only a few minutes and the entire house was awake after china dishes exploded everywhere as they fell to the floor. Crabbe used magic to get the cabinet off of MacNair but not before he was screamed at.

 

“Get the littlun back you idiot!” MacNair howled, “He's getting away!”

 

Without any leverage and in a house full of aurors, it was obvious MacNair and Crabbe were out manned They chased Harry out the front door and into the night but Harry had known where he could go in case of emergency, as his parents as helped him plan a potential escape should something dreadful happen. Through the little woods Harry crashed running straight through pointy shrubberies that cut up his arms and scratched his knees when he crawled through brambles. It was a difficult pathway for a full grown wizard to follow. Harry squeezed himself into an abandoned drainage pipe and crawled behind the bend. It was nearly impossible to aim magic all the way through and downright difficult to bounce it anywhere near the opening.

 

Harry heard MacNair and Crabbe curse and swear as their long legs became tangled in the shrubs and robes caught on the trees. After a few moments shouting voices could be heard and they gave up.

 

“ _Apparate!_ ” MacNair shouted.

 

Crabbe soon followed his example but not without taking half a shrub along with him.

 

The sound of footsteps as aurors went crashing through the little forest looking for the attackers was music to Harry's ears.

 

“Looks like a splinching to me,” an auror said, “check St Mungo's for admissions.”

 

“All those old families have their own healers at their beck and call,” the other auror admonished, “it won't do a lick of good. Where's auror Potter?”

 

With a thunderous crash that nearly scared the life out of him, Harry was gently pulled from his hiding place by his Dad.

 

“Am I ever glad to see you,” James said.

 

He nearly squashed the breath out of Harry in relief.

 

“Over here!” James shouted to the others, “Found my Harry! All clear!”

 

They spent some time in the house getting Harry cleaned up and his scratches healed, the pajamas were torn and ravaged by brambles and Harry's hair stuck up even more than usual. After changing and having the leaves plucked out of his hair by his Mum, Harry was exhausted but he would fight tooth and nail to hear whatever the next conversation was going to be. After all, Remus had floo'd in and Sirius was sitting at the kitchen table with a very serious expression.

 

“Have you got a hold of auror Scrimgour?” Lily asked.

 

“Yes,” James said, “and he's thinking the same thing I am.”

 

“What might that be,” Remus said, “surely not fidelus again. Harry's only twelve, it's an awful spell for a little boy to be under.”

 

“That wasn't what I was thinking,” James said, while he glanced at a pinched looking Sirius.

 

“We can do it,” Sirius muttered, “Reg says yes. But I can't vouch for that one anymore than I can Kreacher's continued loyalties.”

 

“Then there's nothing to it,” James said, “we'll have to live in Grimmauld Place until further arrangements can be made.”

 

This began a series of events that Harry felt were quite unfortunate. The very next day, arrangements were being made and Harry was told what they were going to do. The muggle neighborhood he had begun to feel was his own was wrenched away from him. His things were all packed up and shrunk into boxes and instead of going to Daigon Alley at all before school shopping, they were moving instead. Not only was the house noisy and occupied by dozens of aurors but there were also a great many people rifling through his boxes and bags and underclothes, which Harry felt in particular was a waste of time because of the small chance someone may have hexed them. Or thrown in a portkey or any numerous highly unlikely eventualities that the auror with the wonky eye and bad limp insisted were possibilities rather loudly around his fellows while he crossly demanded they work harder examining everyone's things.

 

“I thought he was in retirement,” Sirius had muttered to James.

 

“Right,” James snorted, “as if an old hat like Mad-Eye actually retires at all. More like he hid himself away until Scrimgour couldn't help but find him useful.”

 

“I can hear you Auror Potter!” the man named Mad-Eye shouted.

 

Harry flinched, it was getting a bit much after almost no sleep the night before. And all the questions the aurors had asked him about his attackers had made his head spin.

 

“Take him to our flat,” Sirius said to Remus, “make sure he's had some lunch and a rest. It'll be a while before the heap is open and poor Harry looked like he's going to fall over.”

 

“I'm fine,” Harry insisted but he weaved slightly when he got up from the dining room chair.

 

“Come on, Harry,” Remus said, “your parents have a great deal of work to do and there's a tea shop in London that's surely calling our names for some breakfast.”

 

“We're going to London?” Harry said, feeling reinvigorated.

 

“Yes,” Remus said, “the house isn't terribly far from our flat. We'll rest up and then be off, nothing more for either of us to do here but wait until it's ready.”

 

“I hate moving,” Harry said, gloomily.

 

“I know,” Remus said, with a smile, “I remember the last few times.”

 

Remus had perhaps been slyly recalling some of Harry's more spectacular meltdowns as a child but Harry flushed and stubbornly pretended they hadn't happened.

 

“I liked that one house with the attic,” Harry said, “I miss that one.”

 

The portkey journey from Harry's old house to London kept him awake enough to enjoy some tea and a small stack of eccles cakes from the tea shop they stopped in that was around the corner from Remus and Sirius' flat.

 

“Your Dad loves them too,” Remus said, “I never developed the taste for them. When they were served at Hogwarts, I thought James would make himself sick stuffing them into himself.”

 

“They're good,” Harry said, muffled through a mouthful.

 

He took a large swig of his tea from the sturdy earthenware mug. The muggle shop was well frequented but they were in a more private booth at the back that gave them a very good view of the shop door for safety.

 

“Now Harry,” Remus said, “there's something very serious I must ask you.”

 

Harry swallowed his last eccles cake thickly, he'd had an idea this was coming.

 

“Why didn't you tell the aurors who attacked our house? You said they told you their names when I spoke to you and then when the aurors came you wouldn't say a word about it.”

 

Harry drank more tea and looked everywhere but Remus' face.

 

“Harry,” Remus said, “look at me.”

 

As soon as Harry met Remus' eyes he burst into tears.

 

“I didn't mean to fib,” Harry sniffed, “you don't know what it's like in Slytherin! I don't want to be hated because I've got someone's Dad arrested! It's bad enough as it is!”

 

Remus quickly handed Harry some tissue and managed to calm him down before the other patrons began to take notice. Harry was tired and cranky and desperately wanted a lie-down.

 

“How bad is it now,” Remus asked him gently.

 

“Not so bad,” Harry said, thickly, “but at the start of first-year everyone was terrible. The older boys chased me around and called me all sorts of nasty things like mudblood and swot and then Theodore wouldn't stop tormenting me at every meal and he stole my letters, and Malfoy was such a prat and-”

 

Harry began crying again though it was much quieter and buried under a mound of tissues.

 

“I had no idea,” Remus said, “why didn't you tell us? We could have done something.”

 

“No!” Harry said, horrified, “that would have only made it worse! Besides, eventually it was sorted out. Theodore stopped being mean and we're friends now and Malfoy is sort of okay, when he's not being a prat or calling me names. And Professor Snape is looking out for me, sort of. I don't think he hates me anymore, which is a big improvement because he even blamed me for Theodore's mess at first and I thought I was doomed.”

 

Loudly, Harry blew his nose.

 

“What's bothering you the most right now,” Remus asked, “about Slytherin?”

 

“That my friends don't write letters,” Harry said, “except I told Theodore not to because- I'm sure you know why. And Millicent sent me paints for my birthday but I'm pretty sure it was from Theodore because she hadn't known that I drew. But it's not his fault, Theodore lives with his Dad and he's mental. It makes him barmy too, sometimes.”

 

“Millicent's a kind girl,” Remus said, “I'm sorry Theodore is having a rough go of it. I'd suggest mentioning it to your head of house but I'm sure he's well aware. The adult world isn't perfect, I'm sure you've noticed by now and often complacency in these situations is just as bad as doing something dreadful.”

 

“Complacency?” Harry repeated, he knew what it meant but didn't like it.

 

“Yes, it's when someone ought to do something but for reasons good or bad decides that they won't,” Remus said.

 

The crumbs on the table had suddenly become fascinating while Harry's stomach churned.

 

“Harry,” Remus said, firmly, “please tell me who attacked the house.”

 

“MacNair,” Harry said miserably, “and- and Crabbe.”

 

The latter had been why Harry had been reluctant, he knew Crabbe and while he was terrible to live with and extremely dull, he wasn't entirely awful all the time. Besides, he was Malfoy's friend and Harry knew the less he bothered with his friends the better off Harry would be come September. If they had actually hurt anyone, it would have been different but they hadn't and Harry wished he could have kept his mouth shut.

 

“Are you certain?” Remus said.

 

“Yes,” Harry said, wretchedly, “they told me their names by accident. It was very stupid. And even if they hadn't I'd have recognized Crabbe's father anywhere, they sound almost exactly alike.”

 

Remus was trying hard not to laugh.

 

“I certainly can't vouch for the intelligence of certain wizarding families but that was very daft of them. Right now, Harry, we're trying to figure out how all of these things piece together. Strange things have been happening in the wizarding world and it's doubtful at this point anyone would be arrested for anything. It's best to wait in these situations before running to conclusions.”

 

“Might have told me,” Harry said, relieved, “then I would have said everything before.”

 

“That's not the point,” Remus said, sharply, “because you're already learning not to trust us. We're your own family, you can always trust us. Tell us when things go wrong so we can help even if it's only advice. Sirius has been dreadfully worried about you since your sorting, believe me. The week after Hogwarts I heard him up and about at all hours and saw him crawl out of bed and straight into a pot of coffee first thing in the morning.”

 

Harry giggled. It was certainly something he could imagine Sirius doing, bleary eyed and sleepy.

 

“Whatever happens in Slytherin and whoever it is that bothers you, we'll always be on your side,” Remus said.

 

“Okay,” Harry said, his eyes darted to his empty plate.

 

Of course he could trust his family, they loved him. But some children in Slytherin hadn't been so lucky and Harry often wondered, while safe in his room, what Theodore was getting up to and if he was okay. Surely, Millie would keep an eye on him.

 

After tea they returned to the flat, Harry was led into Remus' room for a long nap as they had been up all night getting things ready for the sudden move. The room was almost entirely filled with bookshelves and covered in so many books they were spilling from the shelves in piles. There was a battered desk across from the big bed that held tidy stacks of paper and tied up rolls of parchment along with a few pens, quills, ink pots and a few rocking ink blotters that spilled from an opened, black box. It was the same as Harry had last seen it when he was nine, except with the addition of a few more tomes.

 

“Go to sleep,” Remus said, “Sirius will being us fresh things and lunch when it's time to go to the house.”

 

Harry yawned mightily, “all right.”

 

“I'll be in the next room,” Remus said, “if there's any trouble at all, call out for me and I'll be right over. Goodnight, Harry.”

 

“Night Moony,” Harry said.

 

After Remus left, Harry shucked off his trousers and socks and crawled under the covers wearing his underclothes and a t-shirt. The blankets warmed up quickly and kept his legs comfortably warm. Just before drifting off, Harry could hear Remus talking with someone through the floo in the living room.

 

“How is he Remus and don't sugar coat a thing!”

 

It was Padfoot's voice, there was a world weary sigh in reply.

 

“They've done a number on his psyche,” Remus said, “I'm not sure that his sorting was a good thing.”

 

“Of course it wasn't!”

 

“Shush Sirius, he's in the next room,” Remus said.

 

“Sorry,” Sirius said, “but I stand by what I said. Slytherin's a terrible place for a sensitive boy like him.”

 

“At least he told me who had done it,” Remus said, “MacNair and Crabbe just like we thought. He was concerned his schoolmates parents would be arrested and he'd get into more trouble.”

 

“Those blasted bloody serpents-” Sirius went on a tirade, there were quite a few curses uttered Harry wasn't entirely sure he knew the meaning of.

 

“He's not doing so well socially,” Remus said, “do you think we should speak to the Headmaster?”

 

“And what'll he say,” Sirius said miserably, “same as he told me when the hat dumped me into Gryffindor and I wanted to cry. There's no way to redo the sorting, it's a one time affair. A magically sealed contract between the hat and the wearer, blast Hogwarts and its ancient, sodding traditions.”

 

“But you did all right,” Remus reminded him, “better than, it was where you were meant to be. Perhaps Harry will do all right where he is.”

 

“No godson of mine,” Sirius said, a little too loudly, “is meant to be friends with a pack of _sodding snakes!”_

 

“Good gracious,” Remus chastised, “voice down! They are some very nice witches and wizards who happened to have had a green and silver scarf around their necks-”

 

Harry stopped listening after that as Remus tried to argue the merits of Slytherin house. It was all right because Harry had learned long ago his house seemed to only have one merit to those who weren't in it; being the most hated in all of Hogwarts. Despite feeling so tired he could cry all over again, Harry had a difficult time falling asleep and it took pretending he was back in his green hued dorm under the lake to accomplish it.

 

In the morning aurors brought Harry a change of clothes and some fresh breakfast. Harry had tea with Remus in his flat and they dined on biscuits and scones before taking a muggle bus to a not very nice part of town. The buildings all had a run down look about them and the surrounding area had grim looking people in heavy coats braced against the light drizzle as they trotted towards their destinations, barely paying Remus and Harry any mind. They finally came upon a series of large row houses and Remus pointed to one marked '12 Grimmauld Place'. The windows were dark and cloudy and the street noisy and somewhat rubbishy, as though the house that had decayed invisible to the surroundings had had an effect on the local scenery too.

 

“That's the old heap,” Remus said, “come along, Harry. Stick close to me, it's been cleaned but just. There's still a lot of old things in here that could do harm to a boy, not to mention grown wizards. And don't peak under the curtain in the entryway, there's a very nasty portrait under there that likes to scream insults.”

 

“What else was in there?” Harry said.

 

“Boggarts for one,” Remus said, “and I have it on good authority that Padfoot eliminated a whole pack of doxys from the curtains in your room.”

 

“Drat,” Harry said, “should have saved me one for defense practice.”

 

Remus chuckled, “I'm sure we'll find more upstairs. I'll be sure to save you a whole bundle, lucky for us boggarts aren't as tenacious.”

 

While the thought of facing a boggart was no picnic, Harry wondered briefly what form it would take if he saw one. Without a doubt, Ronald Weasley's would have been a giant, manky spider. Neville wasn't as clear cut as it would seem; Harry's first guess was Neville would see Voldemort but when he considered the Boy Who Lived was a coward and terrified by most anything, the possibilities became legion. The boggart may even morph into several different things at once depending on Neville's mood that day which would incidentally make it easier to dispel in one go.

 

“Well,” Remus said, as he grabbed the oldest, wonkiest old door knob Harry had never laid eyes on, “welcome home.”

 

The door opened into an entryway that Harry could only compare to Bergedwyld castle. It was dark and very brown instead of gray and sea swept but just as manky and off putting. The musty smell inside was something that could only have been formed by years of neglect, the kind that had a contested house empty for decades without anyone to clean it. The curtained portrait on the wall Harry picked out immediately as he could hear a dark muttering coming from underneath of it. Though he was curious, he thought better of opening it.

 

“It's a bit better upstairs,” Remus said, “the bedrooms have all been aired out. That, down there, is the dining room. The other hallway goes downstairs to the kitchen but I wouldn't bother since it's not been cleaned yet. Up these stairs are our rooms. After you, Harry.”

 

The green paisley wallpaper was peeling badly and the dim, gas chandelier that hung above them was dusty and cobweb ridden, hardly the picture of welcoming. There were also black wrought iron snakes that twined up the wall sconces glowing a sickly yellow and all the dark wood rails on the bannisters and hallways had grimacing green men carved into them, they were unsettling in the dim light. It wasn't helped that many of the expressions carved into their faces were pained or open mouthed in agony. In its prime, the effect may have been both beautiful and intimidating. Instead, Harry found it just as sad and neglected as Bergedwyld's wind scoured gray halls and tormented masked faces.

 

“Are you going to be living with us from now on?” Harry said.  


“Only temporarily,” Remus said, “Sirius doesn't like this house much and to be honest, neither do I. But our flat isn't safe at the moment from those who would do us harm.”

 

It was very much like a grown ups sleepover and Harry was a little excited that everyone would be living in the house at the same time. The only person missing was Uncle Peter but an owl had been sent and it had been decided that it would be safer for Peter to remain in Portugal for the time being. Harry tried not to feel too disappointed.

 

“Do you think the death eaters will come back?” Harry asked.

 

“Perhaps,” Remus said, “but they'll get a nasty surprise if they do. The old house is layered with curses and hexes, Padfoot and your Dad were working all afternoon on it. And you don't want to get caught in one of their traps. No one knows we're here and even if they manage to find out, the house is unplottable and magically protected. You're perfectly safe, try not to worry.”

 

They turned left at the top of the stairs and a few doors down Harry was led to a rather sparsely decorated room. The bed had been undressed and Harry saw an enormous oak chest covered in snakes and vines that had been pushed up against the wall. A dresser with an elaborate mirror that looked like it had been purchased some time in the nineteen hundreds was flanked by an enormous wardrobe in the same style. There was an old fashioned desk that had been crammed into the corner, the room was quite large but all the furniture looked like it had been crammed into one spot by an over ambitious mover and left alone ever since.

 

“I'll help you arrange it however you like,” Remus said, “and in that chest are bed linens to fit that are doxy free, I promise. I helped Sirius go over it all so I can confirm the wardrobe is boggart free as well. What do you think?”

 

Certainly it was grim and strange and not quite like his old house but there was something distinctly magical about the place and Harry had never had such a large room all to himself. He'd be able to decorate it however he liked and with a slight twist in his stomach, quietly bid farewell to his childhood plimpy sheets and ravenclaw curtains and hello to rather a lot of green in his head. Not as a homage to Slytherin house so much but the leaves and snakes on the old chest reminded Harry of a magical forest. Magical creatures were still going to be his theme, simply of a different more intentional sort.

 

“It's a wicked room,” Harry said, “it's huge!”

 

“Well, glad that's settled,” Remus said, an amused smile on his face, “where would you like your things?”

 

Together with Harry pushing and Remus using magic to lift the heavier things, the room was put to rights in under an hour. In the chest Harry found some lovely blankets with green leaf patterns and dark sheets that fit his bed, it already looked more like a forest and became even better when Harry found curtains that were a brighter, more verdant green. Carefully, Harry sorted out his stuffed animals and old toys and decided to box them up to give to other young witches and wizards who had far less than he did. He kept his beaten up grindylow plush and a cheerful looking octopus on the top shelf of his wardrobe and couldn't bare to part with his chocolate frog cards though he vowed to organize them better in the coming year. Other things stayed, like the books Theodore had given him about magical drawing and all the pencils, watercolours and stacks of drawing parchment. Some drawings were thrown away but most that were even halfway convincing Harry put in a pile on the dresser so he could get his Mum to use her excellent sticking charms to put them on the wall. The desk was quickly packed with art supplies and school things like extra quills and lesson parchment. With some help from Remus, Harry carried in a small, curly black table to put his fish tank on. Once that had been set up with its fake greenery, Harry released his glowering mutant snitch into its enclosure.

 

“What exactly is that?” Remus asked.

 

“Oh, ehrm, something Hagrid gave me,” Harry lied, “it eats annoyance. I think it's been a bit overstuffed the last few days, it's flying around a bit lazily.”

 

“It is a bit wobbly,” Remus said, “I don't think I've ever seen one of these in any magical creatures manual.”

 

“Well,” Harry began to explain nervously, “that's because-”

 

Harry was mercifully saved by the appearance of his mother.

 

“I'm most happy that it doesn't shed,” Lily said, behind them.

 

She had come in from downstairs and had taken a look into Harry's room to see how they were getting on.

 

“Oh,” she said, “this is lovely. Very good job, the both of you!”  


“I was mostly involved in a supervisory capacity,” Remus said.

 

“Let's get rid of the rubbish and then have something to eat,” Lily said.

 

Together the three of them moved the empty boxes and extra linens from Harry's bedroom into an extremly dusty drawing room that was occupied by a great many boxes and more dusty furniture resting under sheets. Afterwards they went into the old dining room for some much needed dinner. Since the kitchen was still being cleaned out, plates of cold cuts, cheeses, breads, preserves and sweets were laid out on the table. The aurors would be eating in the dining room after they were done at the house but they hadn't appeared yet. The dining table, long as it was, was almost completely covered by all sorts of food, Harry wasn't sure where to start. After moving all the furniture and putting so many things away, he was starved.

 

“Best to tuck in now before the rest of the hungry hordes appear,” Lily teased.

 

The plates were dispersed and Harry began filling his with great enthusiasm. As he went around the dining table he heard a small sound and looked under the dingy table cloth to see the old house elf wringing his wretched hands together.

 

“Want some?” Harry asked.

 

The old elf said nothing to Harry and continued to mutter to itself instead. Harry couldn't imagine what a house elf would eat in Grimmauld Place when it had been shut up all that time, though he was familiar with pantries that magically replenished themselves from storehouses far away. Whatever had been stored fresh would have long gone foul or had the misfortune of being in a can for twenty years. When Harry went around the table for the second time, he knicked a small plate and loaded it up with fresh food.

 

“Here,” Harry said, shoving it under the table, “eat something before you drop.”

 

“Vile filth,” the old elf hissed at him, “what would mistress say? Half-blood vermin and mudbloods alike in her house, not like the old days. Keeping Kreacher from the room, tending to master Regulus themselves. Offering a house elf food! Would rather starve.”

 

Harry sighed, he had heard every insult about blood purity the year before in Slytherin house. It was getting rather old.

 

“Take it,” Harry hissed back, “you want to help your master Regulus or not? Can't do it on whatever it is you've been scrounging up here.”

 

The old elf looked longingly at the plate and quickly snatched it from Harry's hands. It turned its back on him under the table and began frantically gobbling up the food as though it hadn't had a proper meal in ages.

 

“You got him to eat,” Lily said quietly, as Harry crawled out from under the table, “thank goodness. I wouldn't want to have him die of starvation. I don't care what Sirius says about his character, he's a living being like anyone else.”

 

“What is he,” Harry asked, “he looks like a house elf but- ehrm. Not very friendly, is he?”

 

“Oh he's a house elf all right,” Lily said, “a rather barmy one. Mind yourself around him, Sirius' mother was a wicked person and Kreacher adored her as all house elves adore the families they serve no matter how horrible. He has a terrible mean streak and Sirius can't make him do a thing if he doesn't want to, only Regulus has that power.”

 

“Is Regulus here too?” Harry asked.

 

“Upstairs,” she said, “Sirius and Regulus used to have rooms on the very top of the landing but the aurors are going to go through them before they're unlocked. Regulus is in a room on the second and you're not to go into there for any reason, he's in a delicate state.”

 

“Like Uncle Peter was,” Harry said.

 

Lily smiled, “Yes, like Uncle Peter. That was a very long time ago, I'm surprised you remembered. ”

 

“Of course I remembered. I read him a book about magical creatures,” Harry said, “and he thanked me after. I miss him loads.”

 

“Regulus isn't like your Uncle Peter,” Lily cautioned, “we're not sure if he's friendly.”

 

“Why's he here then,” Harry asked, annoyed, “if he's so dangerous.”

 

“Because he's Sirius' brother,” Lily said, “and despite all that went on between them, they still love each other. Family's like that, Harry.”

 

“If I did something wrong would you and Dad still love me?” Harry blurted out, before he could stop himself.

 

“Of course we would,” Lily said, “and we'd help you make it right, no matter what it was you had done. Whatever put it into your head that we wouldn't?”

 

“Oh, Uhm,” Harry said, awkwardly.

 

The aurors suddenly arrived in a great and blustering bunch composed of witches and wizards arguing and gesticulating with each other. In the crowd, James Potter seemed the man of the moment, getting a lot of back slaps and cheerful encouragement.

 

“And there he is,” said an auror Harry didn't recognize, “little Harry Potter!”

 

“He's not so little these days,” James said, “through first-year already.”

 

“I'm twelve,” Harry said obstinately.

 

“Love it while you have it gents,” the auror with long, gray hair and a beard attested mournfully, “it won't be long before they're too old for pappy. That's why nature invented grandchildren!”

 

“Come on now, Silkes,” James said, “I have years of his attention left, don't I Harry?”

 

“I wouldn't stop loving Dad!” Harry shouted, emphatically.

 

The aurors thought this was a funny thing to say and laughed uproariously at Harry's very serious proclamation so emphatically, Harry found himself blushing from embarrassment. Thankfully, in such a crowd it was easy for Harry to flee into his room without embarrassing himself any further.

 

After enduring a restless sleep full of unfamiliar sounds and the vague footsteps of aurors walking up and down the stairs at all hours of the night, Harry wasn't in a pleasant mood the next morning. After getting dressed and blearily washing his face, Harry grumpily nabbed some toast with jam from the dining room spread and nearly made it back to his bedroom without having to greet anyone at all but instead, as he rounded a corner, he almost smacked into a tall stranger wearing dark robes.

 

“Excuse me,” the stranger said kindly, “you must be Harry Potter.”

 

“Hello,” Harry said, as he looked up surprised at the stranger's face.

 

It was rather like Sirius' handsome face but dimmed a little, like a light that had been turned down just a notch from the brightest setting. It was instantly apparent that this must be the infamous Regulus Black.

 

“That's a poor breakfast for a growing boy,” Regulus said, “why don't we go to the drawing room and have Kreacher make us something instead?”

 

“Get away from my godson!” Sirius' voice boomed.

 

“I'm afraid I can't,” Regulus said, “I have important matters to discuss with him.”

 

“And what sort of matters would those be?” Sirius snarled.

 

“I would rather we wait until Harry's head of house arrives,” Regulus said.

 

“What!” Sirius shouted.

 

Harry's eyes went round as saucers. He certainly felt quite the same shock as Sirius at that very moment.

 

“Professor Snape will be arriving soon,” Regulus said, “I suggest we all retire to the drawing room, if you want to come along Sirius, it would be best considering the matter we discussed last night-”

 

“Come along!” Sirius said, his voice climbing in volume with each word, “Has the curse addled your head? I'm not leaving my godson by himself with two bloody serpents!”

 

“That's fine enough,” Regulus said, then he smiled slightly, “but it might help if you recall Harry is also in Slytherin.”

 

“ _Not when he's at home!_ ” Sirius howled.

 

Harry clapped his hand over his ears.

 

“Can we go now, Padfoot?” Harry said loudly, hoping his voice carried over Sirius' continuing tirade that no doubt voiced his opinion on the entirety of Slytherin house and its dubious origins, “I'd like some breakfast!”

 

The three of them found their way to the first floor drawing room, which was still in the condition Harry had first seen it except there were a few chairs and a table that looked recently cleaned. There was an old fashioned tea service on the table along with a few stacks of scones, eccles cakes and other breakfast sweets. Regulus sat down in the first chair with some difficulty and groaned slightly when he nearly slid from it, to Harry's surprise Sirius had jumped to his aid and made sure he sat straight despite his obvious discomfort.

 

“Thank-you,” Regulus said, with as much grace as he could muster, “if this damned curse would leave off-”

 

“Healers gave you an estimate,” Sirius said, slumping into his chair, “a week and your guts might be back to rights. Another two or three and you'll be fit to climb three flights of stairs.”

 

Regulus looked tired and frustrated, “I feel like a two-hundred year old hag.”

 

“Lucky to be alive,” Sirius said while viciously buttering his scone, “and that Prongs took you in.”

 

“This is still technically my house Sirius,” Regulus said, his voice taking on a cool tone, “in case you've forgotten that fact in all the excitement.”

 

They were saved from Sirius' angry rebuttal by the arrival of Professor Snape who was wearing all black robes, as always. He flapped in from the hallway very much the same way as he had entered the potions classroom during Harry's last school year. 

 

“Regulus,” Snape said, tightly, “how fortuitous you were found alive. And looking quite well for someone who ought to have been dead for ten years.”

 

Regulus nodded, a tiny quirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

 

“I'm glad to see you're the same as always despite a bad decade,” Regulus said, “I hear you're a potion's master at Hogwarts. It's not the sort of job I'd have expected of you, what with your peculiar interests but it is likely much kinder.”

 

Snape glared down his nose, “there were circumstances.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Sirius sniped, “bet there were.”

 

“Black,” Snape spat and then added in a more sedate tone, “and Mr. Potter, hello.”

 

Harry had poured himself a large cup of milky tea and was holding it tightly to keep his nerves in check.

 

“Hullo sir,” Harry said, “I hope your summer has been all right so far.”

 

“It's been better,” Snape scowled, “but thank-you.”

 

Sirius looked like he was going to have a coronary, his face went red and he clutched his chest.

 

“ _Sir!_ ” Sirius shouted, “is that what he's got you calling him? Does he have Harry shine his shoes too!”

 

Regulus sighed, “Professor Snape is Harry's head of house. Quite frankly, I'm glad he hasn't inherited your disrespect. What did you call professor McGonagall at your age, _The Hag In The Scottish Tartan_?”

 

Professor Snape let out a short bark of laughter that startled Harry so badly he almost knocked over his tea cup.

 

“Not to her bloody face!” Sirius shot back.

 

“Why hide it Black,” Professor Snape said in a poisonous tone, “we all know what sort you were in school. A fine example to set for a young man.”

 

“And what sort of example does it set,” Sirius said, nastily, “that they've got a Hogwarts Professor who was a sodding DEA-”

 

“NOT IN FRONT OF A STUDENT!” Snape roared, leaping from his seat and brandishing his wand.

 

“ _Enough!_ ” Regulus shouted, and then was promptly attacked by a bad coughing fit.

 

It was terrible enough that both Sirius and Professor Snape quickly returned their wands to their pockets. Professor Snape poured some tea into a mug and thrust it at Regulus who gratefully drank from it in great gulps while Sirius called out into the hallway for an auror to fetch a healer. After healer Fairweather- an elderly witch with a brusque air that held little love for foolishness had checked on Regulus and declared him no worse than he was did their conversation resume, after she had imparted to them several dire warnings not to upset her patient again before she left.

 

“There is a matter,” Regulus began, “that concerns what happens to this house should anything happen to me. If I were dead at this very moment, the situation would be much more clear cut but as it stands I'm happily still alive. Auror Potter and I discussed it last evening, Auror Moody confirmed it and Sirius is conveniently here as our witness.”

 

Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his mouth shut but looking mulish.

 

“I want you to know Harry that you can refuse at any time, though I would appreciate some thought after I relay the terms.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said, hesitantly.

 

“As it was written in my mother's will, Sirius is unable to inherit the house should something dreadful happen to me. After considering our options, I believe this one is the path of least resistance that still keeps certain parties away from the property. I would engineer a will that would bequeath all my property to you, Harry, in the event of my death.”

 

Harry looked up at Regulus wide eyed.

 

“Don't worry, it's only a formality. Your family would live in the house along with Sirius if he wishes, myself and the aurors and – other particular groups that are aiding in sorting out the puzzle I kept for the last ten years at great cost to my person, very little would change after it passed hands. It is simply a clause that should protect both of us and our families if the worst should happen. All artifacts, possessions, property and belongings would pass to you and if you're too young to properly accept them, then Severus will keep them in trust for you until you're of age, allowing things to go on as they are until you're legally able to own them. The beauty of it is that should anyone attempt to contest the house, it would be nigh impossible to even lodge a complaint until after Harry were seventeen, the trustee is merely there to be sure the will is carried out until that time.”

 

“It'll help Dad,” Harry said, “and Mum? And Padfoot? Can Moony live here too?”

 

“If he likes,” Regulus said.

 

Snape made a disgusted noise.

 

Harry fidgeted in his chair and thought for a few moments.

 

“All right then,” Harry said, “I'll do it.”

 

“You're a brave young man, very much like your father. It must be difficult in Slytherin,” Regulus said, “I can imagine they call you a lot of awful names-”

 

“And why would that be,” Sirius said, bitterly, “can't imagine what would motivate that lot to spit out rubbish considering-”

 

“If you have any trouble,” Regulus said, ignoring his brother, “send me a letter and I can offer some advice. I had friends you know, who found it difficult too.”

 

Regulus had glanced at Professor Snape who had been sitting ramrod straight the entire conversation and while a cup of tea had been placed in front of him, he hadn't taken a single sip from it. Harry wondered if it was because of general sourness or paranoia that he would be poisoned by Sirius.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said.

 

“That's enough from him,” Sirius said, getting to his feet, “and from _that_ one too. Come on Harry, we're going to find your Dad and then a chippy.”

 

Both Regulus and Professor Snape shared a look that suggested appalled disgust at such a suggestion.

 

“Yes!” Harry crowed, he loved going out for chips with Sirius and his Dad, sod what anyone else thought about it.

 

“Go change into something more muggle,” Sirius suggested, “and we'll be off. Those two can stay up in their secret clubhouse indefinitely for all I care.”

 

“And goodbye to you as well, Sirius,” Regulus said.

 

After running halfway down the hall, Harry turned around and ran back into the drawing room.

 

“Thank-you Professor,” Harry said, “and erhm, Mr. Black.”

 

“Reg is just fine,” he said with a half-smile, “Mr. Black makes me sound like my father. Go on and get your chips, growing boys need all the food they can get. ”

 

Harry grinned and fled towards Padfoot full of excitement.

 

“Do you have to call him that?” Sirius muttered when they were outside the drawing room.

 

“He is my Professor,” Harry said, tetchily, “at Hogwarts. I can't help it!”

 

After the door had slammed and the house was nearly empty, Severus Snape regarded Regulus Black with some suspicion.

 

“Peter isn't in Portugal at all, is he?” Snape said with a sneer.

 

“He's not much use to the Order outside of England,” Regulus said, “or so he tells me. He was a great help, really gave me a hand even if it was a bit ratty. Kreacher wouldn't have been able to find me without him”

 

“Pettigrew will be the death of you,” Snape said, “and the Potter boy too.”

 

“You know, I think Harry trusts you,” Regulus said, “if we're lucky, we can use that.”

 

“We're not using the boy,” Snape snapped, “don't speak of it again. Bad enough the idiot Longbottom being trotted through the Headmaster's machinations, I won't have Lily's son being dragged through it with him!”

 

Regulus said shrewdly, “I understand, Severus. James Potter is fair game for the chopping block but heaven forbid if Harry or his mother should get in the way.”

 

“Speak another word about Lily and I'll-” Snape began.

 

“Not another word will be spoken,” Regulus said, “I won't begrudge you a soft spot for an old friend, as I've found myself suffering often from the same affliction.”

 

Snape scoffed, “careful, or you'll sprout whiskers as long as that traitor's for lying.”

 

Regulus smiled slyly, “Poor Harry would be heartbroken to know what his dear Uncle Peter gets up to when he's not around. I just hope the poor boy survives long enough for it to be an issue.”

 

Snape drew his wand quickly, “who told you that! How much has Peter said? I'll kill him! I'll kill the blasted rat-!”

 

The table rocked and china clattered as Snape gripped the edge in white knuckled tightness, Regulus remained calmly sipping his tea. He had after all, shared a dorm with Severus whose bark was far worse than his bite but only when he thought no one was looking. It had never been a good idea to show too much weakness in Slytherin house, one never knew who was waiting for the chance to strike. Severus had always been very good at striking first.

 

“No need,” Regulus said, “I'll keep Harry's secrets, whatever they may be and so will Peter. Harry is a very unique little boy, being around him feels almost like-”

 

“Being back in the Dark Lord's presence,” Snape said, stiffly, “before it became -unpleasant.”

 

Slowly, Snape returned to his seat. His black eyes glared at Regulus and jealously guarded their secrets.

 

“But much more welcoming. Like the whole world might be ours for the taking,” Regulus said, wistfully, “no matter how awful the path to get there.”

 

“It's a lure,” Snape said, “young Mr. Potter can't help it anymore than he can help the colour of his eyes or the wretched messiness of his hair. His magic grows stranger, we grow stronger. And if he lives through it, then who knows what might happen. Voldemort would be-”

 

“Of no concern, according to the books Peter's been finding. And Headmaster Dumbledore, much the same. I'm curious to find out how much of the old stories are true,” Regulus said, “aren't you? And if Peter happens to walk into a trap in the meantime- well, it's no great loss to anyone.”

 

For the first time in many years, Regulus Black and Severus Snape shared a smile. One was very handsome, the other quite nasty but both were united seamlessly by their love of power. It was unfortunate that a large, tatty rat with overlong whiskers had snuck in through the grates and had overheard their entire conversation.

 


	13. Salazar's Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, Christmas really kicked my butt. But at least it's enormous...
> 
> Please excuse any lingering mistakes, they'll be fixed up later. But if one particularly bothers you leave a comment. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Salazar's Legacy**

 

After all the excitement of moving and being attacked by death eaters, shopping in Diagon Alley was almost a let down. Certainly the Nimbus 2000's in the quidditch shop's windows were still beautiful as ever and the kneazles just as groomed in Magical Menagerie and made Harry sneeze hard as always (not that had never stopped him from looking enviously at their cages). The ruby encrusted fire crabs that watched him warily when he squashed his face up against their enclosure were a much safer bet for a possible pet anyway but above it all, his excitement had been dampened when he had realized his parents would be spending most of the trip in a wizangamot meeting and not with him.

 

“What would anyone want with something that- that _poops_ fire?” Ron said, annoyed.

 

There were other reasons Harry wasn't enthusiastic about this year's Diagon Alley shopping trip and they came in a set.

 

“Are they dangerous?” Neville said, with a tremble in his voice.

 

“It's a defense mechanism,” Harry said, “unless you go poking it with a stick it's perfectly fine.”

 

“Actually it's classified as a triple 'x',” a tall fourth year said, “which means only a competent wizard or witch can protect themselves appropriately.”

 

“I know all about the ministry classifications,” Harry said tartly.

 

His name was Cedric Diggory and he had appeared wearing a garishly orange muggle sweater (no doubt transfigured from something in Ron's hideously orange room) and jeans, perfectly white trainers to go with his meticulously arranged hair. He was handsome and noble and a Hufflepuff and it made Harry want to retch just looking at him.

 

“Then you know they wouldn't allow a second year to own a fire crab,” Cedric said.

 

Ron sniggered and Harry fought the urge to hit him.

 

It wasn't helped that he definitely noticed Cedric had stammered and flushed and appeared extraordinarily flustered by Harry's Dad, a bit of hero worship had obviously convinced him to take on his three young charges instead of spending his time shopping with his friends. It was also an established fact that Cedric wasn't very fond of Harry but this perhaps had something to do with how they met officially only an hour before in the Leaky Cauldron.

 

The wizangamot was having an extremely important meeting the day most witches and wizards were doing their school shopping. Lunchtime arrangements had been made between the adults and Harry found himself sitting next to a pack of Weasleys and Neville, which had never been a good start to anything in his life.

 

“Who would schedule a meeting at a time like this?” Molly had said, her temper rising, “it's absolutely inconvenient for all the parents who sit on the hearings!”

 

“It's Lucius Malfoy's doing,” James said, “his wife and house elf do all the shopping for little Draco I'm sure and he won't miss a thing. Unfortunately, for those who don't have house elves or two parents gracious enough to have today off at the same time, getting to the meeting is quite the challenge. Every one of us counts that has a seat because Malfoy's rich friends will surely be sitting at theirs.”

 

“Is Bulstrode in on it?” Sirius asked.

 

“I sent him and his wife an owl,” James said, “we'll see, they do have a young son to chase after besides their girl, he's only four.”

 

The meeting had been split into half and everyone over eighteen sitting at the table longed to be present. It was the final push to get Arthur Weasley's muggle protection act official, that much Harry could follow. He listened carefully to the adult's chatter for more information but was sorely disappointed when he caught his Mum's conversation with Mrs. Weasley.

 

“That's the best age,” Molly said, fondly.

 

“The worst you mean,” Lily said, with a sigh.

 

“Oh no, they're not old enough to really put up a fight. You can do anything to them! Dress them in whatever robes you like, it's what I did to Ginny when she was a girl. The laces I found for her in the attic were darling and those little knit sweaters,” Molly said, dreamily, “she hardly wears a dress these days. Always running off with her brothers, up to something.”

 

“Things didn't go quite like that for Harry,” Lily said stiffly, “that was when he learned judicious use of the word 'no' and how to throw a proper wobbly.”

 

“Well yes,” Molly said tartly, “with him, I'm not surprised! Just look at his father!”

 

Harry's mother had looked at James who was standing tall and proud and handsome, while joking with Arthur and Sirius.

 

“I think I shall for a while longer,” she said, with a cheeky grin that Molly didn't return her way.

 

Besides embarrassing anecdotes about his childhood Harry had also heard enough to figure out that the rest of the meeting had something to do with four empty seats for families now dead or extant being voted into play. Harry didn't quite understand that part but knew that Molly Weasley had an interest in a seat because it had once belonged to her twin brothers, killed in the last war.

 

“I was a Prewett,” Molly said loudly a few moments after her conversation with Harry's mother, “I'll always be a Prewett and that upstart Malfoy won't steal those seats for his wealthy friends!”

 

“Here, Here,” Sirius said, as he raised his glass of butterbeer.

 

Because half the meeting required most of the adults and the other half less since it was only for seated members, it was decided how they were splitting up the children. Sirius banged his spoon against his glass until the chatter quieted and then began to speak.

 

“Fred, George and Percy,” Sirius said, and shushed the twins as they booed their brother, “will be going with Remus”

 

Fred and George gave each other a despairing look, Remus was very difficult to pull one over with which was probably why he was chosen.

 

Sirius continued, “Mr. Diggory kindly offered the services of his son to watch Neville, Ron and Harry. Ginny is with the Lovegood's, heaven help her-”

 

“Sirius!” Lily said sharply but there was muffled laughter from Arthur.

 

“-and is flooing in later so her mother can give her the full attention her glorious first year shopping for Hogwarts deserves.”

 

“I'm getting a sitter,” Harry said, “at twelve?”

 

“Not just any sitter,” Sirius said, “Cedric! You know him from school.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “he clobbered Slytherin last year.”

 

There were some barely muffled sniggers from Fred and George. At least someone was having a good time, thought Harry bitterly.

 

It was different when Remus and Sirius looked after him because they loved him and let him do whatever he liked. No self respecting twelve year old would ever consent to a sitter and especially not when he had managed to pick his things all himself the year prior.

 

The Diggory's chose that moment to appear, Cedric and his father at least. The white trainers on Cedric's feet, poking out of his muggle jeans were so bright they almost made Harry's eyes hurt.

 

“Look at you both,” James said, excited, “dressed muggle! Amos, you really went all out!”

 

“James, old fellow!” Mr. Diggory said, there was much hand shaking and back slapping, “I wouldn't have missed this for the world.”

 

“My Dad helped Cedric transfigure his muggle things,” Ron said to Neville, “I reckon he wanted to impress Mr. Potter.”

 

“Who wouldn't?” Neville said, wide eyed, “Mr. Potter is the best.”

 

“He's my Dad,” Harry snapped, “not yours.”

 

Neville looked crestfallen.

 

“He knows that!” Ron said, irate, “Don't be upset Neville, Harry's just jealous he was sorted into the wrong house!”

 

“It was the right one because you two weren't in it!” Harry hissed back.

 

The adults and children were shuffling in their seats to make room for Cedric at the already packed table.

 

“Ickle Harry-kins!” Fred said, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

 

“GO AWAY!” Harry shouted.

 

“Just as friendly as ever, I see,” George said.

 

“What are you doing to my godson!” Sirius said rather loudly from the other end of the table.

 

“Nothing at all,” Fred and George said, in turn, “just saying hello!”

 

“Keep it that way, gents,” Sirius said, in a warning tone.

 

Apparently some sort of prank the twins had pulled on Neville hadn't gone over well with Sirius and he was still cross with them. It was perhaps, the only thing Neville had been good for in Harry's recent memory, besides melting the face off Professor Quirrel. The others settled around empty chairs and Harry was dismayed that Ron moved down another seat and was sitting right next to him. Cedric was directly in front and he attempted a smile at Harry that wasn't returned.

 

“Don't worry about Harry,” Ron said loudly, “the Potters had to move house this summer.”

 

“Ohhh,” Neville said, as though that made sense of everything, “Harry hates moving.”

 

“I'm right here!” Harry snapped, “at least I have a house elf and not a crummy old ghoul in the attic.”

 

Kreacher was barmy and old and wouldn't lift a finger to do anything for anyone besides Regulus but it was still nice to see Ron looking so cross.

 

“Neville has a house elf too,” Ron snapped, “it broke into his room just last night!”

 

“Ron!” Neville shouted, “we're not supposed to say anything about it, remember what Mr. Potter told us! It's a house elf gone mental, not a proper one.”

 

“Ha!” Harry said, “I'd be mental too if I had to follow around after Neville all the time and pick up everything he forgot!”

 

“Quiet down please,” Cedric said, “I've already met Ron and Neville properly but not Harry Potter. Hello, Harry.”

 

“Hi,” Harry said sourly.

 

Neville and Ron ducked their heads and began whispering together. About what, Harry had no idea nor did he care. He glanced up at Cedric who was gazing at Harry's father in a mildly desperate way. Harry recognized that look because he'd seen it often on Padfoot when he was a dog and wanted a pat on the head.

 

“Muggle jumper's on backwards,” Harry whispered to Cedric, low enough the others wouldn't hear.

 

Cedric Diggory was also the seeker on the Hufflepuff quidditch team, which made Harry feel a bit sore since he wasn't allowed to play for Slytherin.

 

“Oh,” Cedric said, wriggling so he turned the hideous jumper around so the buttons faced backwards, “thanks.”

 

Harry smirked to himself. It hadn't been but it certainly was now.

 

“That'll be it,” Sirius said loudly, “meeting adjourned until we get ourselves to the wizangamot.”

 

Everyone at the table began to rise and shuffle about and Harry was none to pleased with who he had been stuck with for the afternoon.

 

“Cedric!” Amos had barked out.

 

Quickly, Harry darted so he was firmly settled between Padfoot and his Dad. Sweets were slipped into his pocket, a sad attempt at mollifying him but he kept them anyway because he could make Neville feel worse that he hadn't been given any.

 

James shook the fourth year's hand, “We're very thankful for your help today, Cedric. Amos has told me all about you. He said you'd like to be an auror someday!”

 

“Oh erhm,” Cedric stammered, his face flushing, “I'll have to see about the NEWTS I know it's a very difficult career path-”

 

“Make those NEWTS in three years and I may put a word in,” James said, “your Mum and Dad are a fine lot, they've helped the department more times than I can count.”

 

“Y-Yes,” Cedric said, eyes wide and star struck, “thank-you! I mean, I'd like that very much!”

 

James smiled and then said in a low voice, “might want to work on your muggle studies Cedric, your jumper's on backwards.”

 

Cedric blinked, turned beat red and muttered a thanks.

 

“Off you go,” James said, “we'll be back to finish up your shopping sooner than you think. Stay close to Cedric and no leaving his sight! Watch out for these three, they're all very good at getting themselves into trouble.”

 

James spared a kindly smile at Neville who nearly wilted in shame.

 

“Off you go then,” Sirius said, giving Harry a gentle shove to get him moving, “good luck Cedric, trust me you'll need it with this lot.”

 

Suddenly, Cedric didn't look so sure of himself.

 

When they had exited the Leaking Cauldron and were well passed the crowds, Cedric glared at Harry.

 

“That was a rotten thing to do,” Cedric said.

 

“Wasn't it?” Harry said with a placid smile.

 

“Sorry,” Neville said, “we would have warned you if we knew he was up to something.”

 

“He's always up to something,” Ron said, “knew which house he'd end up in.”

 

“It's rude to judge people on their house,” Cedric said smartly, “we're going to Slugs and Jiggers first, do you have your potions lists?”

 

To Harry's great delight, Ron looked awfully put out by Cedric's dismissal.

 

It took them ages to pick out anything as Neville had to go by Ron's list as he had forgotten his own and kept having to double back and check and be sure he hadn't missed anything. Cedric's patience was wearing thin by the third shop but despite set backs they were finished with the first half of the shopping long before noon.

 

“Are we going to Flourish and Blott's?” Harry asked eagerly.

 

“Your parents are taking you after,” Cedric replied.

 

“Then if we're done early can we go to Magical Menagerie?” Harry pleaded.

 

The entire time Cedric had kept a militant eye on the three children, ushering them in and out of the stores at record speeds despite Neville's inevitable mishaps and forgetfulness. For a moment, Harry thought Cedric would refuse but it seemed even he wasn't immune to a child's hopeful tone.

 

“All right,” Cedric said, “but stay close together and absolutely no buying anything.”

 

That was how Harry found himself prodding a fire crab hoping to make it flatulent so it would hit Neville, until the shop keep gently reminded him some fire crabs were more relaxed and they were the ones who weren't kept in tanks but sat placidly on squashy pillows instead.

 

Despite his failure to incite the crab, the pet shop was usually one of Harry's favourite places to be. There were charming soot coloured kneazles and brightly coloured snails and rats skipping rope with their tails but what Harry was most hoping to find today was the chance to escape. Fortunately, Harry knew that with Neville in their group in a very crowded shop it was only a matter of time before a catastrophe happened and his moment would come.

 

As they had dipped in and out of shops, it was only natural for Harry to catch some of his schoolmate's wandering around as well. Half of Slytherin was dining on sundaes at Fortescues, it seemed and Harry had noticed the weedy form of Theodore Nott sitting at a table with Millicent and what looked like a very young child. For a while, they had been alone but the second time around Tracy Davis was sitting at their table too. Harry desperately wanted to say hello but knew it would only get him into trouble if he tried, Cedric was keeping an annoyingly close watch on him and Harry had no doubt his Dad had warned him about Harry's trick during the summer months.

 

Harry's moment finally arrived when Neville accidentally knocked over a very ugly kneazle's basket causing a commotion.

 

“Oh, dear,” the shop keep said, “Crookshanks! Get back in your basket!”

Apparently the kneazle had as much love for Ron as Harry had and began trying to climb his hair. The three were distracted and Harry darted out the door as quick as he could.

 

“Oi!” Cedric shouted.

 

Harry was being followed by a frantic Hufflepuff. Thinking quickly, Harry ran into one of the dark alleyways that went alongside Nockturn Alley. It was safe enough but very dingy and Harry all but disappeared in his dark, plain shopping robes behind the barrels and rubbish littering the tiny street.

 

After taking another sharp turn, Harry looked back and made sure Cedric had lost him.

 

While still panting a little from the run, Harry buttoned up his robes to the neck so his schoolmate's would be less likely to notice his muggle jeans and jumper, though there wasn't anything much he could do about the old trainers he had worn. He liked them anyway; they were Slytherin green and faded, broken in just right. But making the effort was half the battle and Harry felt a little more confident as he doubled around into Diagon Alley again through the shortcut to Fortescue's and found half of Slytherin house and probably a good chunk of Hogwarts whole student population still eating ice cream on the patio. Mr. Fortescue was having trouble keeping up, he kept darting rather quickly in and out of the shop with ice creams and barely noticed Harry slipping in at all.

 

“Harry!” a familiar voice shouted, “over here!”

 

Harry grinned and found his way to his friends.

 

“Theo!” Harry said, “Hullo Millie, who's that there?”

 

Millicent had been bouncing a little boy on her lap until he dove under her chair, apparently shy around strangers.

 

“Hi Harry. This is my little brother Otto, ” Millicent said, “Mum and Dad are in the Wizangamot along with everyone else's parents. Most of us were dropped off here until they get back.”

 

“You look out of breath,” Theodore said.

 

“I ran off,” Harry said, “I can't stay long but a few minutes here are worth a lot more than another second with Ron and Neville and a fourth year Hufflepuff _!_ ”

 

“Ugh,” Theodore said, “fate worse than death.”

 

“Ew!” Millicent said, scrunching up her face.

 

“Let him sit down,” Tracey said, “make room, Nott.”

 

Tracey had blonde hair and freckles that were set off by heavily lidded eyes. She always looked a little bit sleepy to Harry but seemed all right when she wasn't being insufferably stuck up with Pansy Parkinson. Thankfully, Pansy was no where in sight.

 

It was an easy thing for two skinny boys to fit onto a single Fortescue's chair. With some amusement Harry noticed that Tracey and Millicent had their own seats unlike the boys and sat upright and heads held high, like a pair of queens surveying their kingdom.

 

“What have you been up to this summer,” Theodore asked, as he shoved a spare spoon at Harry.

 

The sundae in front of them was immense, it was a four story tower of ice scream, chocolate syrup and peanuts that everyone kept picking at. Millicent kept trying to feed some to her little brother but he was apparently more interesting in peering from under the table at Harry while making strange faces and spending the rest of the time hiding. Harry waved at him but after Otto stuck out his tongue at him for the second time, Harry decided getting him out of there was a lost cause.

 

“We moved into a barmy old house,” Harry said, “even has a house elf.”

 

“Really?” Millicent said, with some interest, “what kind of a house is it? Is it big?”

 

“Not that big I suppose,” Harry said, “bigger than the houses I'm usually living in. But it's a wizarding house through and through. Has lots of old rubbish and dark arts things and was a right mess before Dad's friends cleaned it out for us.”

 

“Have you found anything interesting?” Theodore asked excitedly.

 

“Nothing yet,” Harry said, “but I'm hoping to help clean the library when I go home for Christmas. I bet there's loads of stuff in there-”

 

Harry almost mentioned how nasty the wizards who owned it had been but then realized the three members at the table were undoubtedly somehow related to the family as the Blacks had really got around as far as intermarrying was concerned. Sirius like to remind them all quite loudly that purebloods loved to marry off cousin to cousin and everyone was related to each other somehow and how disgusting and foul it was. Harry was pretty sure that interpretation wouldn't go over well with Tracy or Millicent but he doubted Theodore would care.

 

“They were an eccentric family,” Harry said, “the Blacks.”

 

“Blacks!” Millicent said, “You mean, the _Ancient and Noble House of Black_ good grief! I can't imagine what that's like.”

 

Harry was surprised by her outburst, “you know about them?”

 

“Who doesn't!” Millicent said.

 

Tracey looked a little uncomfortable, “Draco Malfoy is related to them.”

 

“Who gives a toss,” Millicent said, “we had some member of our family marry into them ages ago. It was quite a story, infidelity, madness, _murders!_ They were a wild lot and twisted, or so the stories go.”

 

Harry blinked at her, “I knew they were a bit ehrm -odd but not all that.”

 

“Check your own family tree,” Millicent said with a smirk, “I remember hearing that a Black married into the Potters in the fourteenth century and it didn't go well. Was quite a story but I don't remember any of it besides that a lot of people died. In a fire, I think.”

 

“Who told you that?” Theodore asked, “I knew there was a fire at the old Potter estate but I hadn't known why-”

 

“I'll find out for you, Theo. It's something Mum tells her friends on the regular no doubt, she's awfully proud the family is related to a bunch that are so notorious.”

 

“It's all right to be proud of where you come from,” Tracey said, “after all, not many pureblood families are left.”

 

“Oh shut up already!” Millicent said, “Banging on all the time about the purity of blood, you'd think you were a healer!”

 

This had obviously been a conversation they'd had before as Millicent was flushed with anger and Tracey looked like she wanted to go on about it some more before giving in.

 

“Regular quidditch match here,” Theo said, amused, “girls are mental.”

 

“Oh,” Tracey said, sharply, “and boys are so balanced. I heard you went to Nott's house, Potter.”

 

“Yep,” Harry said blandly, he really would rather not have anyone make such a huge deal of it, he'd had enough of it at home, “what's wrong with that?”

 

Tracey smirked, “all the galleons in Gringotts wouldn't get me into that house, Potter.”

 

“Why not,” Theodore said, his shoulders jutting up in that odd way Harry recognized as inches from outright hostility, “it's only a damned house and I live in it, why are you so afraid?”

 

“It's not the twerp I'm worried about,” Tracey said, “it's his father. I'm going Millie, I can see Pansy from here and she's trying to get my attention.”

 

Harry definitely didn't like Tracey any better now.

 

“Fine,” Millicent said.

 

She looked hurt but tried not to show it too much.

 

“Don't be like that,” Tracey said in a mollifying tone, “we'll see each other at school. Bye Millie. Good luck, Potter. I see a Hufflepuff heading your way.”

 

“Bugger!” Harry said with emphasis and then ducked under the table.

 

Theodore sniggered at his swearing while Otto squealed and tore out from under the table onto Millicent's lap again. Harry meanwhile, crept under tables and darted from one to the other to the surprise and horror of a few patrons.

 

“There's a second-year pervert under here!” an older Slytherin girl shouted.

 

“It's only Potter,” another girl replied, “he's a weirdo but not filthy. Besides, I'd run from Cedric Diggory too. Look at him coming! He looks really hacked off, nice job Potter!”

 

“Budge off!” Harry shouted as he darted onto Diagon Alley proper.

 

It was in Harry's favour that Cedric couldn't toss aside Neville and Ron, who were no doubt slowing him down significantly. Harry took another turn and went back down the same alley he'd come from, pleasantly surprised he had again lost Cedric in the interim. No doubt Neville had tripped over something and fallen flat on his face. Harry wondered how Neville could be so agile on a broom and so utterly useless on the ground.

 

It was a good thing Harry chose that moment to look ahead into the alley as he'd almost run smack into Lucius Malfoy. Harry dove quickly behind a barrel as Mr. Malfoy strode past, his nose high in the air and immaculate gray dress robes flapping behind him. But then, to Harry's great surprise, he seemed to be waiting right beside Harry's hiding place in an impatient way. Sweating a bit, Harry waited nervously for something to happen.

 

Finally, from the shadows a witch appeared. She was very pretty and wore a dress that had sparkly silver threads woven all through dark blue fabric that glittered when they moved. She had the same heavy lidded look that Tracey did but her skin was much darker, almost like the Patil twins Harry had briefly seen sorted during his first year and her hair was long and plated into an elegant twisted braid. She also wore what Harry recognized as a traditional witches hat. Immense, black, twisty and decorated in the same glittery fabric. She looked ready for a ball and certainly not the back of Knockturn Alley.

 

“Mr. Malfoy,” she said, graciously, “how good of you to meet me. I wish we could have met somewhere with less rubbish but needs must.”

 

Lucius bristled immediately, “you know very well why we're meeting here. Because of your ridiculous claims!”

 

“Ah yes,” she said, “the problem with history is that it is rarely convenient for those in the middle of it, wouldn't you say Mr. Malfoy? Or should I say Mr.-”

 

“Don't you dare,” Lucius snarled, “the gall to even suggest such a thing!”

 

Harry fancied that Lucius Malfoy was suddenly looking awfully gray in the face, as though he were trying desperately not to sick up on his expensive leather boots.

 

“Family honour doesn't lie. And yours or lack thereof,” she said calmly “is legendary. But in any event, I'm prepared to hear your offer.”

 

It must have been something terribly serious she was holding over him, Harry knew a little bit about the elder Malfoy but not only from his son. Harry's Dad had mentioned him too, sometimes to do with auror business. He wasn't the type to back down without a fight.

 

“This is absurd,” Lucius dithered, “but if you insist carrying on this charade than I have no other recourse but to offer you twice what was offered before. If you like, you may select from one of our properties instead. After, an unbreakable vow will be taken with my wife to not repeat the terrible smear you've threatened against my name. And not another word will be spoken of this, or any other matter to do with it on English soil.”

 

For a few breathless moments both parties considered what the other had to offer.

 

“It's not enough Mr. Malfoy,” the witch said calmly, “and it's not the galleons or the property I'm after. Though they're more than fair for the information I've gathered and all the trouble I've gone to research it.”

 

“What could possibly-” Lucius Malfoy was at a loss, it seemed for once he couldn't bribe or charm his way out of something, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do about it.

 

“I'm sorry to say that I'm determined to let the truth will out,” she said, “and that means that what was once Salypso Slytherin's secrets, will now become my secrets. And that includes the rather unfortunate origins of your house. For you see Mr. Malfoy, this information will make me more famous than any pile of galleons can possibly offer. My name will be in history books and your name-”

 

She raised her hand and elegantly fluttered the fingers through the air.

 

“Will simply disappear,” she smirked, “enjoy it while you have it, it won't be long before the others come asking for compensation. Makes me shiver thinking what the remaining Blacks will do considering the insult foisted on Narcissa-”

 

“Shut your filthy mouth half-blood!” Lucius drew his wand, “If you dare make aspersions against my son-”

 

“Go ahead,” she said, “if I die, the book still gets published. If I live, at least you have a choice when it'll happen. Perhaps you may want to sell a few of those properties before leaving England altogether.”

 

There was a very tense moment when Harry swore he'd be witness to a murder. But despite looking tight lipped and viciously angry, Lucius apparently calmed himself enough to put away his wand.

 

“This isn't over,” he said, tensely, “mark my words.”

 

“It never has been and never will be. Not for a thousand years,” the woman replied.

 

With a loud crack Mr. Malfoy aparrated away. Behind the barrels Harry fidgeted hoping the witch would leave as well but for a long moment, she leaned heavily against the wall gasping and out of breath. She lifted her head and for a second Harry swore he saw a terrible face underneath it, nothing like the beautiful woman before. She took several deep breaths and then her face seemed to relax into the previous pleasant look. It reminded him distinctly of Professor Quirrel but of course that was impossible, Voldemort was dead as Neville had surely killed him-

 

The witch disappeared with a loud crack and Harry knew he'd best leave before anyone noticed he had been there. He darted away from the barrels and through his shortcut out into Daigon Alley proper. Following the crowds he ended up near Flourish and Blott's where a very harried looking Cedric was frantically looking through the crowds. Harry sneaked in behind them.

 

“Hullo,” he said.

 

“Where have you been?” Cedric said in a tone that would have made Mrs. Weasley proud, “we've been looking all over!”

 

“No where important,” Harry said, “besides, better that I'm here now than when Mum and Dad got here. Imagine what they'd say when it was you who lost me.”

 

“That's just horrible,” Ron said, “we'd back you up Cedric if you want to tell on him.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, “then you'd have to explain why you let me go into Knockturn alley.”

 

“Bloody Slytherins,” Cedric swore.

 

Harry felt pretty clever and giggled while Neville gave him a nasty look.

 

“I can guess who he's been seeing and he's not supposed to,” Neville said, “don't worry Ron. I'll be sure to tell Mr. Potter when we're alone.”

 

“Take it back!” Harry shouted.

 

Neville was a dirty rotten snitch to say such a thing, didn't he know that Harry kept enough secrets about his clumsiness at school? He's see if Harry held his tongue next time someone asked about The Boy Who Lived and how great he was...

 

“No!” Neville snapped, “You're a mean spirited boy, Harry Potter! I don't want to be around you anymore!”

 

“Feeling's mutual!” Harry said, but in truth his feelings had been deeply hurt and he barely held back his tears.

 

It was one thing to threaten abandonment and entirely another to go through with it.

 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Cedric said, quietly, “here comes Mrs. Potter.”

 

They were all saved from one of Harry's spectacular meltdowns by the arrival of his Mum.

 

“All right Harry?” she asked curiously.

 

Of course she had plenty of experience and knew all the signs.

 

“M'fine,” Harry managed.

 

“He's sore Neville won't talk to him anymore,” Ron said smugly.

 

Lily turned towards Cedric.

 

“I hope this hasn't entirely put you off having children for life,” Lily said, amused.

 

Cedric sighed a bit, “I won't say it wasn't any trouble but it certainly made for an interesting afternoon.”

 

“You've been a great help Cedric,” Lily said, “consider yourself relieved early, I'll take it from here until the rest arrive.”

 

“Thank-you, Mrs. Potter,” Cedric said, “and it really wasn't that much trouble, I'd be happy to do it again.”

 

Ron and Neville at least managed to cheerfully wave goodbye to Cedric as he wisely fled while Harry crossed his arms and sourly stared at the ground trying not to cry.

 

“Have you got everything on your lists?” Lily asked cheerfully.

 

“Yes Mrs. Potter,” Ron and Neville chirped.

 

“Of course, no thanks to either of them,” Harry said.

 

“Come on now, Harry,” Lily chided, “no point in being glum when we're going to the bookshop. If you cheer up by the time we leave I'll get you another drawing book.”

 

“You can draw?” Neville said, surprised then quickly shut up again, obviously angry with himself for breaking his own rules.

 

“He draws very well,” Lily said, “in you go, there's a book signing today so stay close to me.”

 

Flourish and Blotts was normally fairly busy this close to September but it was quite another thing to see it surrounded by very grumpy looking wizards and witches all in dark hats and strange clothing talking amongst themselves. Some looked like they had just floo'd in from some very far away countries wearing elaborate head dresses and unusual robes and others like they had crawled out from the grimmest corners of Knockturn Alley with shabby robes and far fewer teeth. There were posters outside written in fancy letters with a picture of a book on them.

 

_Salazar's Legacy_

_by_

_Infamous Scholar_

_Myrto Gamp_

 

_The book banned in three countries!_

_Available in England for the first time!_

_Shocking histories revealed!_

_Signed copies available from 1-3pm_

 

 

It wasn't a very friendly looking group but there were two aurors posted outside the door that Harry vaguely recognized.

 

“Afternoon, auror Silkes,” Lily said.

 

“And what a fine one it is, Mrs. Potter!” Silkes cried enthusiastically, “I was expecting a rain shower and instead we have full sun, if I have to stand around all day I couldn't ask for better.”

 

“At least the fresh air is nice and you're not all cooped up in the office,” Lily said, “James will be coming soon.”

 

“I'll let him know you're inside already,” the other auror said.

 

When they were inside Harry took a look around and felt a bit startled, it reminded him of Slytherin house, there were so many witches and wizards in formal robes and dark clothing and old fashioned hats. His Mum looked amiss in muggle trainers, jeans and a flowery blouse with a red cardigan half buttoned. But she didn't seem bothered by this and led Neville, Ron and Harry into the store to get their school things.

 

“Uhm,” Ron stumbled, as Lily was helping Neville load up books into a basket, “I don't think I have the galleons for new.”

 

“Don't worry about a thing,” Lily said.

 

Ron wavered between acceptance and embarrassment.

 

Lily sighed, “it's all right, Ron. Your father knows all about it and he did a very big favor for James today, it's only fair.”

 

“All right then,” Ron said, his mouth set in a thin line.

 

Harry thought Ron was being stupid, when someone offered you a gift taking it was only polite.

 

“May I go upstairs?” Harry asked, “The drawing books are up there.”

 

Lily quickly checked Harry's basket for all his school things then nodded.

 

“Not for very long,” Lily said, “come back down in fifteen minutes the book signing is starting soon and it's going to get very crowded in here, very quickly.”

 

“All right Mum,” he said.

 

Harry darted away and wandered upstairs, far away from Neville and Ron and their annoying persons. He looked eagerly through the magical drawings section and chose a book about the particulars of animal animations in wizarding drawings. While Harry felt that he was improving by leaps and bounds, he still wasn't quite sure how to make the animations work right.

 

“Hiding behind books again, Potter?” the voice said, startling him.

 

“Hullo Malfoy,” Harry said.

 

It seemed even when surrounded by his favorite things, drawings and books, Harry wasn't able to enjoy himself. His expression must have soured because Malfoy smirked.

 

“What's put you in such a foul mood,” Malfoy said, as he snatched the book from Harry's hands “ _Anatomical Creature Artists of the Sixteenth Century_? Suppose when you can't play quidditch, getting your fun where you can is essential.”

 

Harry huffed, “right.”

 

With some irritation, Harry attempted to get his book back but Malfoy tucked it under his arm and waltzed over to the overhang that showed the lower parts of the store.

 

“Is that your Mum?” Malfoy said, with some distaste, “awfully muggle, considering she's married to a Potter.”

 

“Don't insult my Mum,” Harry said, hackles rising.

 

Malfoy opened the book and glanced through it, as though he hadn't heard Harry utter a thing.

 

“I was told that you went to Bergedwyld Castle,” Malfoy said, “That's quite brave of you, if a bit stupid.”

 

“No one asked you,” he said, “and I went because Theo wanted me to. It was interesting, would have been great if everyone hadn't gone round the twist about it.”

 

“My parents have known the Notts for a very long time,” Malfoy said, “if Old Nott had invited your mother inside, he wouldn't have let her leave if you catch my meaning.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I gathered that, thanks a lot. I've heard every story there is from Dad about him after I got back.”

 

“They _despise_ each other,” Malfoy said, in a gleeful tone.

 

It was always a bad sign when Malfoy began looking particularly smug about something Harry couldn't pinpoint straight away.

 

“So what,” Harry bit out, “is there a point to this, or are you just trying to take the Mickey? Because honestly, I've had enough from Neville and Ron to last a lifetime.”

 

“Oh, _that_ explains the sour mood,” Malfoy said, amused, “and I'm just saying, Potter. It might help if you learn who your real friends are, particularly since you fallen into a much better fortune than what you've originally been handed.”

 

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder towards Harry's mother who was probably scolding Neville over something foolish he had forgotten. Harry vaguely wished he had stayed behind because surely it would have been more entertaining than the conversation he was suffering through now.

 

“Your secret boarder made you an heir apparent of an absurdly formal House,” Malfoy said in a low tone, “you really don't know anything about it, do you?”

 

“No!” Harry said, but then amended, “I'm sure someone would tell me something if I had to know. And how do you know anything about that anyway?”

 

“My mother is related,” Malfoy said, “but surely you'd have known all that already.”

 

Malfoy was hoping Harry hadn't, he could tell.

 

“I had heard,” Harry said, “but I've no idea how it got around.”

 

With the look of someone who was doing a great favor by dispensing information, Malfoy loftily waved his hand.

 

“Heirs are made public in the Prophet,” Malfoy said, “and your inheritance has just been announced, which was quite a shock according to Mother. Not only are you the last of the Potters but apparently the Blacks too, since your godfather was disowned. It's quite an honour, particularly for a half-blood. Might make it easier in Slytherin with the fifth years, considering.”

 

Harry's cheeks burned, the last thing he wanted was for Malfoy to keep careful tally of his many humiliations from the older years.

 

“Even when born with a _disability_ ,” Malfoy used the word in way that made Harry want to smack him repeatedly with _Hogwarts: A History_ , “many important people will overlook it when you've got the right friends.”

 

There was some tilt to the conversation that had been flying very far over Harry's head but it began to land and congeal into something mildly horrifying. Suffering Malfoy's behaviour in study group was bad enough, this was entirely different.

 

“ _No_ ,” Harry said, under his breath.

 

There was nothing more dreadful than Malfoy deciding Harry was some sort of personal project because he had moved up sufficiently in the world to merit his notice. Not least because Malfoy never took a 'no' for an answer.

 

“Of course you'll be sitting with me during the feast,” Malfoy said, “some might see it as a statement you're ready to be a proper wizard.”

 

Before Harry could tell Malfoy what he could do with his proper wizardry, a loud din began rise as the book signing was organizing itself on the first floor.

 

“We'll talk later,” Malfoy leaned in close to him, handing him a different book, “while at school. This is much more appropriate reading than that awful drawing book.”

 

Harry stared at the book in his hands and couldn't believe his eyes. The book was navy blue and had extraordinarily swirly, gold script letters on the cover and a small image of a family crest Harry recognized from Grimmauld Place. It was the crest for the First Families, a group of wizarding families who had decided they were much more pure blooded than everyone else and deserved special recognition. The title was just as distasteful as the concept.

 

_In Wizardry's Interest:_

_Those Less Pure That Found Power_

_~In Purity~_

_by_

_Sappho Crabbe_

_third edition_

 

“Rubbish,” he said, emphatically.

 

But Malfoy had already gone and Harry had to hurry and shove his way through many wizards and witches a lot taller than he was to get to his Mum in time. Padfoot, Moony and his Dad were already there.

 

“Quite a large turnout, considering,” James said.

 

“Place was originally booked for Gilderoy Lockheart,” Remus said, “quite a different crowd that would have been.”

 

“I'm just glad he was caught before being hired at Hogwarts,” Sirius said, “what sort of a nutter casts memory spells on wizards and writes about it? Sincerely stupid of him.”

 

“His stupidity was trying to pull one over Dawlish when he was in disguise,” James said, bemused, “never liked the chap, glad he was the one that ended up in St. Mungo's with a scrambled head until the rest of the department found the pattern.”

 

“And a good thing for Lockheart that Dawlish got out before the dunce himself was put in by one of his very own spells,” Sirius said, “might have been trouble if they had crossed paths while convalescing.”

 

“More than a might,” James said, laughing, “I thought Dawlish was going to hex him on principle after he recovered. Oh, Harry, there you are! I was just going to go looking for you upstairs.”

 

“Is it wrong to buy a book to incendio it?” Harry asked.

 

Sirius and James gave each other a worried glance.

 

“Now why would you want to do that?” Sirius asked.

 

Harry held out the book Malfoy had given him.

 

“Oh dear,” said James, “I can see why.”

 

Sirius took it from Harry and gave it a good once over.

 

“Think Snape has about half-dozen copies of these,” Sirius said dryly, “it's certainly his style.”

 

“Why did someone give you that book,” Remus said.

 

“To prove a point,” Harry said, bitterly, “probably to themselves.”

 

The three marauders shared a conspiratorial glance.

 

“I'll take over,” Remus said quietly, taking his wand from his pocket.

 

With a flick of his wrist, the book burnt itself into crispy ashes without any smoke or smell at all.

 

“Never thought I'd see the day,” Sirius said, impressed, “Moony burning books.”

 

“There's a lovely section on what to do if one should befriend any dark creatures,” Remus said, “it's extremely hateful. And that's being overly kind to the rest of that awful book. I have no idea what it's worth but I can assure you, Harry, it's not worth the paper it's printed on and neither is anyone who believes in the contents. Excuse me, I'd like to get closer to the presenter.”

 

Sirius and James shared a look.

 

“Sca-ry,” James said.

 

“And that Harry,” said Sirius, “is what happens to Moony when he becomes absolutely hacked off. He goes all quiet, it's really quite terrifying you never know just what he's going to do.”

 

“We're fortunate it was just a book that got burned,” James said with a wink, “who gave that one to you, Harry?”

 

“Oh er-,” Harry stumbled, “no one I'd ever call a friend, or anything-”

 

For the second time that day, Harry was saved by his mother arriving with Ron and Neville close behind.

 

“Oh good,” Lily said, “you've found one another. The book signing is about to start, I'm hoping to say hello to an old friend.”

 

“We'll take over from here, Lils,” James said, “and might I add that is a lovely cardi you're wearing.”

 

She winked cheekily at her husband.

 

“Thought it best to show my colours,” Lily said, “Gryffindor house needs all the support it can get today.”

 

“Dressed to kill,” Sirius said, “that's our Lils!”

 

“Really, Sirius,” Lily said, bemused, “be good, Harry. And you too, Neville. It takes two, you know.”

 

“I know,” said Harry, sulkily.

 

“Yes Mrs. Potter,” Neville said, in a gloomy tone.

 

“I'm putting you in charge,” Lily said, in a low voice to Ron, “keep them both out of trouble until your parents get here.”

 

“I'll do my best,” Ron said, with a look on his face that said she didn't know what she was asking, “and uhm, thanks Mrs. Potter for erhm, everything-”

 

“You're very welcome Ronald,” she said, kindly.

 

Ron blushed an unattractive crimson that was almost as dark as his hair.

Lily Potter scurried into the crowd and firmly pushed her way through until she was closest to the signing table.

 

“Why's Mum so keen on meeting the author?” Harry asked.

 

“She's an old friend,” James said, “from Ravenclaw I think. They used to pal around but I never got to know her very well.”

 

“I knew her a bit,” said Sirius, “one day she followed Snivell- er Snape all the way to the dungeons and hexed him. He transfigured her kneazel the very next day into something awful. Lily had to ask Remus who was a prefect to help set it right.”

 

“Oh yes!” James said, “I remember that now. What was her name?”

 

“Myrto Gamp,” Harry said, “it was on all the posters.”

 

“Right! We only knew her as Scarecrow in school because she was thin as a rake and homely,” Sirius said.

 

“That's not very nice,” Neville said timidly.

 

“It wasn't,” James said, “we were all a bit rowdy back then.”

 

Harry took this moment to stick his tongue out at Neville who gave him a rotten look in return. It earned Harry a rough shove against his elbow from Ron but it was worth it.

 

The din quieted and the Flourish and Blott's Manager shoved his way mightily to the front. Using a mild sonorous so his voice could be heard over the crowd that had squashed themselves tightly into the bookstore he introduced the author.

 

“Good afternoon,” he said, “it's with greatest pleasure-”

 

“And extreme indecency!” a witch shouted.

 

Giving her a perturbed look, he continued on.

 

“-that I introduce our most celebrated guest, Miss Myrto Gamp and her infamous tome on Salazar Slytherin's life, _Salazar's Legacy_!”

 

The bookshop erupted in cheers, jeers and angry shouting. Harry noticed that his father was avidly scanning the crowd as though keeping careful track and not even looking at the presentation at all.

 

“Careful,” Sirius whispered to him, “don't want to seem too eager counting heads.”

 

“I can't help it,” James said quietly, “I know that old sod is here, somewhere. He wouldn't miss this for all the poisons in Knockturn Alley.”

 

The grip on Harry's shoulder tightened and Harry squirmed a little.

 

“Stay close to me,” James warned him, “it might get a bit rowdy.”

 

Harry stared up at his father who was focused intently on the crowd with a sense of foreboding. There was some auror business going on, he had been around his Uncles and his Dad long enough to tell when they were speaking in code. Harry would have thought to suss it out but then a witch took to the small raised platform and Harry recognized her instantly as the witch Lucius Malfoy had been threatening only a few hours before. She was even wearing the same glamorous robes with the sparkles and not a single black hair was out of place. The crowd seemed at once angered and entranced by her presence.

 

“Hello friends,” she said in her clear, cool voice, “and enemies.”

 

There was a dry chuckle that fluttered through the room.

 

“Today we stand on the cusp of a brave new world. It's been nearly twelve years since the death of Voldemort and the effects are still being felt far and wide. Just this morning a muggle protection act was passed, the likes of which has been battering around the wizangamot for years. The world is changing and with it the old concepts many witches and wizards have clung to for centuries are no longer tenable.”

 

She paused for dramatic effect and Harry swore he could feel the room grow just a little bit more hostile in the shifting and jostling of robes.

 

“The book I wrote took me halfway around the world,” she said, “to the far east, the very place Salazar Slytherin was born and where his genius was cultivated. Unfortunately, it was also instrumental in forming his worst traits. My intention wasn't to smear his name-”

 

“Too late for that!” shouted a wizard, who was quickly shushed by the elderly witch next to him.

 

“But to illuminate without glamour his life and times and discover the reasons his ideology shifted so completely in a short number of years- from tolerance for those muggleborns occupying other houses in the school into outright hostility towards their presence.”

 

“It's because he was a proper wizard who knew what was best for our lot!” a different elderly wizard shouted.

 

There was a small group who jeered along with him but Myrto Gamp was undeterred. She simply smiled in a manner that distinctly reminded Harry of Snape at his sneakiest.

 

“I suppose for those who have few skeletons in their closet regarding pure blooded ideals this treatise concerning the much lauded pure blood Salazar Slytherin should hold no surprises-”

 

The audience seemed to quiet and everyone held their breath.

 

“However, for certain families the results of my second book forthcoming at the end of this year may be quite devastating. The blood in the twenty-eight has been purified by history but certain families began as humbly as any muggleborn's ”

 

The room exploded with shouts and arguments the likes of which Harry had never seen, angry fists were raised alongside cries of support and wizards and witches alike seemed almost as intent to argue amongst themselves than with the author.

 

“Salazar's legacy,” Myrto shouted over the din, “has given us more evil than ever it has good and I endeavor, with my research, to prove how wrong he was by expunging the lies concerning blood purity and finally putting them to rest!”

 

The Manager took to the little platform again and tried to calm his patrons as best as he could.

 

“Signings of _Salazar's Legacy_ are beginning shortly, please queue up in an orderly fashion-”

 

The entire crowd seemed to congeal into one heated lump. It seemed that no matter if someone's views were against the book, everyone wanted to read it and most everyone also desired a signed copy.

 

“We'd best get looking for your Mum,” James said, giving Harry a squeeze.

 

“I think I see Mum and Dad,” Ron said, excitedly, “come on Neville, we'll go and say hello.”

 

“Okay,” Neville said.

 

Harry was very happy to be alone again with his family. Together they skirted the edges of the queue hoping to see his Mum's bright red cardigan but instead Harry saw someone else he recognized ducking between two tall black haired wizards.

 

“Hermione!” he said, excitedly.

 

She hurried over to him and gave him a hug.

 

“I've missed you over the summer,” she said.

 

“Missed you too,” Harry said.

 

“Who's this now?” James asked curiously.

 

Harry let Hermione go and beamed at his Dad and Padfoot.

 

“This is Hermione! We made top of our year together,” Harry said.

 

“Oh,” James said, “I've never heard of- what I mean to say is, I'm surprised I don't recognize your name what with being in Slytherin and all-”

 

“Oh no, Mr. Potter,” Hermione said, “I'm not in Slytherin I'm in Ravenclaw. Harry and I met on the train first year we've er- had some adventures since.”

 

“Oh!,” James said, his eyes brightening,“ Yes, I do recall hearing your name mentioned. Neville sang your praises in helping him with that trap door business. That was exceptionally done! Why, I know full grown witches and wizards who wouldn't be able to get through that obstacle course in one piece!”

 

“I mentioned her too,” Harry muttered, “when we fought the troll.”

 

Hermione flushed, “Thank-you. But really, Neville and Ron were the brave ones.”

 

“And you were the brains,” James said, “that's how it ought to be when you're sorted in Ravenclaw.”

 

“Well there are plenty of brave boys and girls in Ravenclaw,” Hermione said, “and smart ones in Gryffindor. And of course, Harry got into Slytherin and he's not what you'd expect from that house at all. ”

 

“I think I see your parents being accosted by Mr. Weasley,” Sirius said, he suddenly seemed immensely cheerful about something, “muggles from the confused look on their faces. Look, there's Lils trying to rescue them!”

 

“Muggles,” James said, as he glanced between Harry and Sirius alarmingly quick.

 

Sirius looked extremely smug, “as muggle as anything. Miss Granger, I'm very pleased to have met you and I'm so glad you're looking out for Harry here, considering his sorting.”

 

“Padfoot! _Dad!_ ” Harry said, scandalized.

 

“Harry doesn't often bring trouble on himself,” Hermione said primly, “he even set up a study group to keep certain students from causing problems, I'm not sure where some of them would be without him. He's the cleverest boy I know, in fact.”

 

Harry felt quite hot in the face, that was very high praise indeed from Hermione.

 

“Fantastic!” James said, he seemed quite a bit more relaxed than a few moments ago, Harry didn't quite understand why, “let's all go rescue your parents Miss Granger, my wife is putting up a valiant fight but Arthur is nothing if not persistent in his interests.”

 

They fought their way through the people until they all met together at the exact same time that Molly and Ginny Weasley finally found Arthur in the crowds.

 

“What are you doing to those poor muggles?” Molly Weasley bellowed.

 

“Look!” Arthur said, “muggle money!”

 

When he held up a pound note, Harry noticed that Ron turned red as a tomato.

 

“Ron!” Hermione said excitedly, “Neville! I hoped you hadn't forgotten we'd try to meet up today.”

 

“We were stuck with Harry!” Ron said.

 

“Oi!” Harry shouted, “more like the other way around!”

 

Greetings were exchanged among parents and Harry noticed that Sirius shook Mr. Granger's hand rather exuberantly, the poor man looked humorously surprised until Sirius explained his relationship to Harry.

 

“Hello,” Ginny said, sheepishly.

 

While suffering from the usual annoying afflictions Harry found permeated the Weasley family, ones involving being far too loud and opinionated and shabby, one gracious thing about Ginny Weasley was that she was very pretty. Unfortunately, she often wore a smaller version of the homely knitted robes that Mrs. Weasley seemed so fond of, the kind one found in knitted pattern magazines meant for people's grans with twisting colours and wild looking patterns.

 

“Hi Ginny,” Harry said, trying to keep his eyes from crossing when he looked at the dizzying patterns on her robe.

 

With some irritation, Harry noticed Hermione was spending all her time explaining to Neville what a pound note was. Hermione was Harry's friend first long before Neville's and he was about to remind her of that fact when Ginny suddenly clung to his arm in a strong grip.

 

“I think I saw-,” she said breathlessly.

 

“Saw what?” Harry said.

 

Then he smelt it, that funny odd smell that permeated Bergedwyld castle but Theodore was no where to be found and that left only one other person capable of exuding it. One he was sure neither of them wanted to meet.

 

“It's gone now,” Harry said, quietly, “don't tell Mum but Dad and Padfoot are looking out for someone.”

 

“Probably Old Nott,” Ginny said, then she realized what she had done and dropped his arm.

 

“It's all right to be scared,” Harry said.

 

“I'm not afraid,” Ginny bit out, “after all, you're the one who went to that boy's house and lived to tell the tale.”

 

“Why does everyone know about that?” Harry said, frustrated.

 

“Your Dad wouldn't stop talking about it, that's why,” Ginny snapped, “he was really worried about you! And Mrs. Potter was so upset when she found out. That was a terrible thing to do to your parents.”

 

“So everyone tells me,” Harry said, “but I'm not sorry. Theodore's my friend-”

 

“Not the most advantageous friend,” Draco Malfoy said as he sauntered over, “but I suppose that sort is in short supply considering the company.”

 

“Leave him alone!” Ginny snapped.

 

Draco's face twisted unattractively and he looked like a bad smell had been placed just under his nose.

 

“Oh, look,” Malfoy said, “Potter's got himself a girlfriend!”

 

“I have not!” Harry snapped.

 

“What's this now,” Arthur Weasley said, as he handed Ginny her last school book.

 

It was tatty and brown and torn up, a far cry from the whole new set Ron had been bought for his second year by Harry's family. Harry felt a little bad for Ginny who seemed embarrassed by her school cauldron full of hand me downs and kept flushing and hiding it behind her, as if somehow the shabby contents would go unnoticed.

 

“Young Mr. Malfoy,” Arthur said sternly, “surely, you've something more pressing to do than heckle Mr. Potter.”

 

“What have we here?” Lucius Malfoy had appeared, although from exactly where Harry couldn't have said.

 

He wore the same perfectly manicured gray robes as earlier, though Harry could have sworn they smelled slightly odd. As though he had been in close quarters with someone who hadn't left Bergedwyld Castle in a very long time.

 

“Lucius,” Arthur said, in an unfriendly tone.

 

“Weasley. I commend you for your tenacity,” Mr. Malfoy said, “that little display in the wizangamot was quite dramatic.”

 

“Why, thank-you Lucius,” Arthur said with less warmth than he'd use to address a garden gnome, “it was quite difficult finding enough muggle victims of wizard cruelty to warrant a proper hearing but we did our best on such short notice.”

 

“Though I suppose I can hardly count the work as yours, what with all the extra raids the ministry has required lately. I do hope they're paying you overtime but judging by the state of this-”

 

Lucius Malfoy plucked one of Ginny's hand me down books from her cauldron and held it up for all and sundry to see. Ginny was fighting mortification staring mutinously ahead at Draco, daring him to say a word. While he hadn't said anything yet, he was smirking at Harry as though it was the most wonderful game.

 

Harry didn't return it, he wasn't in the habit of picking on girls.

 

“I can see they are not,” Lucius said, smugly, “this naturally leads me to conclude that you're little ring leader is none other than auror Potter. I doubt he'd have any trouble locating enough muggles with his darling wife-”

 

As though smelling trouble, Sirius had barged his way through a small gathering crowd.

 

“Oh, look who it is!” Sirius interrupted, “Lucius! How wonderful to have you slither out of your manour for the occasion. How did the bribes go over? Considering we won, probably poorly. Looks like Malfoy money isn't worth what it once was.”

 

As witches and wizards began to gather clearly split in support of the two men, it was an ugly confrontation in the making.

 

“Wizarding blood is counting for less and less these days,” Mr. Malfoy sniffed, “though some have fallen into fortune and risen above their stations.”

 

With great embarrassment Harry darted his eyes to the floor as Lucius Malfoy's sharp gaze raked over him.

 

“A Potter becoming an heir to the house of Black on such short notice,” Lucius said, “one would think there had been something amiss to warrant such a – rash decision.”

 

“Speak another word like that to my godson,” Sirius said, darkly, “and that won't be the only wizarding house short a head.”

 

“Come now boys,” Miss Gamp said, “surely, there can't be any bad blood between your houses these days. Let bygones by bygones!”

 

Harry noticed the short man with the camera before the author, as the flash went off and nearly blinded him.

 

“For the daily prophet!” the small man shouted.

 

He had just taken a picture of Sirius and Mr. Malfoy looking ready to murder each other in a bookstore, which Harry thought was in rather poor taste.

 

“Where is-ah, yes! Mr. Malfoy, you wouldn't mind if I borrow your son?” Miss Gamp asked.

 

“I certainly would!” Mr. Malfoy snapped.

 

“Ah but just one moment Mr. Malfoy, I happened to find Neville Longbottom the Boy Who Lived, surely you wouldn't mind if Draco Malfoy shook hands with him? After all, the muggle protection act was just passed, wouldn't want one to appear a sore loser, now would we?”

 

The sudden silence in the overly full room was deafening. All eyes were on Mr. Malfoy and what he would do. It was with some trepidation that Draco was none too gently pushed forward by Mr. Malfoy, who looked put out indeed by the sudden turn of events.

 

“They're going to take your picture, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said stiffly, “look your best so your mother will be proud.”

 

“But I-” Draco started, but a look from his father made him clam up.

 

It didn't stop him from glaring mutinously at Neville who was looking rather miserable himself. Miss Gamp stood between them as the photographer arranged them to his pleasure.

 

“Over here,” the photographer fussed, “this way, excuse me little boy!”

 

Harry struggled to find a spot in such a huge crowd where he wasn't in the way. He managed to squash himself between Arthur Weasley and Padfoot who began frantically whispering to each other over his head.

 

“Have they found him yet?” Arthur said.

 

“Not a sodding clue but they smelled his tobacco inside,” Sirius said.

 

Harry attempted to listen closely but then he heard Miss Gamp say something quite strange in a low voice, just loud enough for Harry to hear it.

 

“I hope your mother has lost her mean streak against muggleborns Draco, otherwise Easter hols will be most unpleasant.”

 

Her voice was swallowed up by a loud exclamation by Sirius and his sudden darting off but Harry did notice Draco's brow wrinkle in confusion as the flash went off. Miss Gamp quickly hauled a very uncomfortable Neville around so that he was shaking hands with Draco Malfoy while Miss Gamp stood between them. Though it appeared as though Draco and Neville were both trying to break other's hands if their strained expressions were anything to go by. Harry couldn't help but giggle to himself.

 

“Together we're worth the front page!” Miss Gamp said, loudly and cheerfully.

 

While she smiled at Neville, who looked like he was about to sick up from nerves, her gaze kept returning to Draco. Harry wondered what she knew about Mr. Malfoy and his family that had made him so nervous...

 

_BAM!_

 

The sound was so sharp, sudden and loud, several patrons in the shop screamed out loud. Then just as quickly, the room was engulfed in a blackness so dark it could have only come about by magical means. Even the windows disappeared.

 

“Lumos,” Harry whispered shakily, lighting up a tiny aura around him.

 

Next to him he saw the panicked face of Ginny Weasley.

 

“Mum and Dad were just over there,” Ginny said, “if we shout maybe they can hear us.”

 

“Mum!” Harry shouted.

 

“Dad!” Ginny cried, “Mum! We're over here!”

 

A cacophony of shouts and cries and confused voices were heard along with more organized attempts to get light into the building, virtually drowning out the panicked cries of two children.

 

“Break the window!” someone shouted.

 

The sound of glass shattering and the sudden cries of the patrons suggested success had been made on that front but the light they were hoping for didn't come. Instead, the floor by the broken glass was aglow in a sickly, strange blue colour.

 

“Dark magic,” Harry said, he recalled the same colour in his little blue flames that he had found so fun during his lessons, “the shop's on fire!”

 

“No!” Ginny gasped, “we've got to get out of he-”

 

A blood curdling scream was heard over the din of the panicking crowd along with cries of _Murder! Murder!_

 

When a cold, bony hand grabbed Harry's wrist he thought he was going to pass out but instead he was hauled through the blue gloom towards the back of the shop. Ginny had grabbed his other hand and together they were pulled along into a backdoor, down rickety wooden stairs and out into the alleyway.

 

“Theodore!” Harry said, once his eyes adjusted.

 

“Best get out of there,” Theodore said, “shop's on fire! I could see the smoke from the street.”

 

“Harry!” Ginny said, in a desperate, pleading tone.

 

“Who's this?” Theodore said, “is that your girlfriend Malfoy was going on about?”

 

“What?” Harry shouted, “No! That's Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister for goodness sakes, what's going on?”

 

Behind Theodore was a sight Harry wasn't exactly excited to see, it was Millicent powering her way through the confused crowd looking extremely cross.

 

“Theodore!” she bellowed.

 

“Oh rubbish,” Theodore muttered.

 

Millicent picked up Theodore by his robe collar and began shaking him so hard Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Millicent were trying to break his neck.

 

“WHAT do you think you were DOING? How many times have I told you? You're not to HELP him, you're to come to me or Mum!” Millicent shrieked.

 

“I-haven't-helped-him,”Theodore gurgled as he was shaken, “it-wasn't-like-that-at-all!”

 

“Put him down!” Harry shouted, “can someone, anybody, please tell me what's going on?”

 

“Death eaters,” Millicent said sharply to Harry, then returned to strangling Theodore, “What'll you think will happen if you get caught, Theo? They'll put every crime he's done on you! Doesn't matter that you're twelve or you weren't _exactly helping_ \- they don't care about ANY of that! Just that you were there!”

 

Harry looked up at the strange coloured sky and saw a line drawn around Daigon alley between the lightness and normality of a sunny day and the strange magic smothering everything inside of it. Then there were several large bangs and a lot of smoke and everything became absolute chaos to such a degree Millicent dropped Theodore in surprise.

 

“Let's get out of here,” Theodore coughed, while rubbing his red neck.

 

Clouds of dark, strong smoke rolled over Diagon alley and Harry saw emerging from it the two people he was least happy to see because undoubtedly, they had brought more trouble with them.

 

“Harry! Where's your dad?” Neville said, clearly out of breath.

 

“What? I don't know!” Harry shouted, “I thought Mum and Dad were closer to you when the lights went out!”

 

“Your Mum ran into the shop,” Ron said, “she thought you and Ginny were still in there!”

 

Harry bobbed from foot to foot unsure what to do.

 

“We can't go back in, we're not even sure where Mum is she could have left ages ago,” Harry said, “I don't know where Dad is! I don't know where anybody is at all and-!”

 

Harry took a deep shuddering breath and looked at Theodore who was still rubbing his own neck, wincing.

 

“Death eaters won't stop being death eaters just because we're kids,” Harry said.

 

Neville took one look at Theodore and made the connection, his lips thinning and his face looking stormy.

 

“If you want to be a coward with this lot that's fine,” Neville snapped, “I'm going to find Mrs. Potter!”

 

Surely, his father and Padfoot already had the situation well under control and Harry would be just putting himself in needless danger and getting into more trouble because Neville and Ron couldn't be sensible people and stay outdoors. But the guilt rankled him.

 

“I should go,” Harry said, hesitant.

 

“You don't have to go with them,” Theodore said, “what have those two absolute knobs ever done for you? Besides, shop's fine I know for a fact my Dad is still inside and he isn't stupid enough to let it collapse-”

 

“WHAT!” Millicent shrieked, “you let him in? Theodore!”

 

Unbidden the memory of Draco's words returned to Harry.

 

_If he invited your mother, he wouldn't have let her leave alive..._

 

He didn't give one toss about Ron or Neville but if his Mum were still inside and the shop and so was Hadrian Nott then-

 

“Hold on!” Harry shouted.

 

Ron had already began running towards the shop, “Come on then!”

 

“Milli,” Harry said, “please get Ginny back to her parents, I'm not sure where they are!”

 

“Be careful, Potter,” Millicent said.

 

“You're just letting him go?”

 

As he ran, Harry could hear Theodore's shocked exclamation and the sound of him getting smacked upside the head by Millicent.

 

The streets of Diagon Alley were still entrenched in the dark blue that had all the witches and wizards with their wands out holding them in the air to try and cast a few spots of light.

 

When they finally managed to right themselves enough to find Flourish and Blott's the shop was almost engulfed in bright, blue flames.

 

“Oh no!” Neville cried, “we're too late! If anyone's gone in they're done for now!”

 

“No they're not,” Harry said, firmly, “that's dark magic! Look at the way they burning, they're only destroying the books!”

 

In one of Harry's secret dark arts lessons with Snape, Harry had read all about the blue flames and all their myriad varieties. They could burn indefinitely, be very painful, or in the case of Flourish and Blott's only burn things specified by the caster. In this case it seemed to be a great many books. The walls and roof were still standing, though Harry also recalled that the flames could be released and then they would devour anything in their path. Who knew where the caster was and what they were waiting for...though, Harry had some idea.

 

“If we're quick we can find Mum before they start burning anything else!” Harry said.

 

Looking at the shop his feet froze and heart began to pound. He was terrified, frightened. He knew what they were about to do was wrong, they should wait for adults or aurors or someone, anybody besides the three of them against one of the scariest dark wizards who ever lived. Harry thought he was going to be sick right on Daigon Alley's tidy cobblestone street before he ever made it in.

 

“Of course you'd know all about dark magic,” Ron said.

 

“I know how dangerous it is, if that's what you mean!” Harry shouted, “We shouldn't have come!”

 

“Stay out here then!” Ron shouted back.

 

The sickness faded and Harry was left with a growing sense of irritation instead. He took a deep breath and forced down all the twisting, roiling feelings in his gut. He wouldn't be bested by the likes of Ron and Neville, Slytherins were brave too when they meant it.

 

“I'm not running away!” Harry said, “follow me, it won't hurt you if you don't touch it directly.”

 

“I don't like this,” Ron grumbled.

 

“What else are we going to do,” Neville said, “at least Harry usually knows what he's talking about.”

 

“Thanks for that,” Harry snapped, “stay close together and don't stray!”

 

As they ran inside, emboldened knowing the flames wouldn't hurt them, Harry thought he saw something quite strange winding its way across the roof. But the moment they entered the book shop they were plunged into total darkness.

 

“Did you see Snape on the roof?” Neville said to Ron.

 

Ron didn't say anything because he had made a single, distressed sound instead.

 

“L-lumos,” Harry said, in a shaky voice.

 

At his feet was a wizard who looked quite dead and was covered with an awful lot of blood. Ron's foot had caught in the man's robes and Harry felt his stomach turn again when he recognized the face of an auror, Mr. Silkes, the one who would bring him treats when he came to the house.

 

“Sorry for stepping on you, auror Silkes,” Harry whispered.

 

“Don't think he's a ghost yet,” Neville said in a shaky voice, “he probably won't mind. Ron? Ron!”

 

Ron it seemed had remained in some kind of shock. Sudden footfalls echoing across the wood floor had Harry grabbing Ron and diving behind what he thought may have been the cashier's desk with Neville.

 

An awful smell assaulted Harry's nose, it was the unmistakable stink of Bergedwyld castle.

 

From the corner of his eye Harry caught a flash of bright, Gryffindor red followed by a lumos that lit up his Mum's face.

 

“Harry?” she whispered, cautiously.

 

She wasn't aware that a few feet away from her was the one person most eager to hurt her.

 

From the dim light of his lumos Harry could still see the dusty gray boots of Hadrian Nott hurrying towards the sound of his Mum's voice. Harry's hand trembled but he took out his wand. There was no time to consider anything but the safety of his mother who had been caught unaware.

 

“Ow,” Ron hissed at him, “Harry you're hurting my arm!”

 

He smacked Ron, hoping it would shut him up.

 

“ _Vespervoltus_!” Harry whispered.

 

It must have been loud enough for Old Nott to hear because he turned around at the sound of the voice. But the bats soon diverted him from noticing much of anything at all.

 

A blood curdling scream was wrenched from Hadrian Nott as he fought off the bats that were sticking to his face and hair. The fear in the room was heavy and Harry almost felt a bit bad about the terrible screaming coming from Old Nott as his face contorted into a terrifying mask.

 

“Tom! Tom! They've come back!” he screamed, “they've come back for revenge! Tom! Help me-!”

 

For a moment, Harry thought he had the upper hand but then Old Nott wrestled with his fears and with a wrenching sound tore the bats from his face and lit them on fire, turning them quickly into ash.

 

“I know it's you,” Hadrian Nott hissed, “little boy!”

 

The way he ground his teeth and contorted his face that was bleeding and covered in scratches made Harry feel more fright than the entirety of his time spent sitting at dinner with Theodore. With startling clarity Harry understood that this was what everyone was so afraid of because this was the Hadrian Nott that they knew; a cracked old man out for murder.

 

“ _Indicumon_!” a familiar voice said.

 

The room was doused in a blue glow that suddenly illuminated the entire book shop. Not far from their hiding place Harry could see the glassy eyes of auror Silkes, and only a few feet to his right Hadrian Nott with his wand drawn. Behind him was Harry's mother whose mouth was now open in an 'o' of surprise when she saw who had been looking for her.

 

“Pivot turning,” Professor Snape said, “now!”

 

The three adults spun around to face each other. Like clockwork coming to life, Harry's Mum and the Professor sprang straight up and put their backs to each other. They moved in a circle as Hadrian attempted spell after spell in their direction and parried just as quickly.

 

“Wow,” Harry said, he never knew his Mum could duel so well or that Professor Snape was so light on his feet.

 

“What are they doing?” Ron said.

 

“It's a defensive maneuver,” Neville whispered back, “I think.”

 

“They're spinning so the enemy can't focus enough to cast the killing curse,” Harry hissed, “really Neville, don't you pay attention to anything Dad says? If you can't focus on a person and how much you want them dead, can't very well kill them with that spell can you?”

 

“That's clever,” Ron said.

 

“Of course it is” Harry said, “that's why I know all about it and you don't.”

 

He could feel two sets of eyes glaring at him angrily but the fancy footwork on display held his interest far more. But strangest of all Harry's Mum seemed to be almost enjoying herself, moving lightly and quickly and gracefully as if she were only dancing and not fighting for her very life. The Professor had a rather nasty smile on his face, which Harry supposed meant he was having fun as well, though that wasn't nearly as strange considering how viciously he was aiming at Hadrian Nott.

 

“Try to let go of my arm now, it's really hurting,” Ron said plaintively.

 

Harry tried, but it was as though he couldn’t move his hands at all and they were stuck like that. After a few few fruitless tugs they couldn't do anything else and merely kept silent behind the desk and tried to block out Neville's panicked noises each time Hadrian Nott blasted a spell that lit up their dim surroundings even more.

 

Moving across the room in a twist that Harry thought must have come from some sort of demented ballet, Old Nott finally had found his moment as the two duelers twist slowed down for a second.

 

“Avada-” Old Nott began.

 

Harry knew if he didn't do something this very moment, either his Mum or Professor Snape would be dead. And while some students might celebrate the latter it was hardly something Harry himself wished to facilitate. Harry leaped from behind the desk hauling Ron along with him who cried out in dismay.

 

It was enough to cause Old Nott's head to turn in surprise. Then Harry hit him with everything he had left.

 

“ _Vespervoltus_!” he cried again.

 

What launched from his wand wasn't a flurry of bats but an enormous spider that smacked Old Nott directly in the face. Though, not very effective as Harry was extremely tired it was a very good distraction. Letting out a horrendous scream, Old Nott tore the creature away from him as aurors barreled in from all entrances. Hadrian Nott pulled something from his pocket and snarled at Professor Snape.

 

“Next time,” Old Nott said, “and no amount of begging or cowl kissing will stop me, understand miserable traitor?”

 

With that last utterance finished, Hadrian Nott vanished just as a flurry of stunning spells hit the exact spot where he had stood. The lights came on, the shop was normal again and all the flames sputtered out and vanished though they left smouldering black charred piles in their wake that had once been lovely, leather bound books.

 

“Portkey!” an auror shouted, “he's gone again! Put those fires out and gather any wounded!”

 

“Mum!” Harry cried, finally letting go of Ron's arm to run towards her.

 

“Harry!” his mother said.

 

Harry expected to be hugged, instead he was shouted at.

 

“What did you think you were doing, coming back inside!” she shrieked, “You ought to have waited for the aurors to arrive! And that spell-! That's dark magic! It was that boy wasn't it, who taught it to you!”

 

“It wasn't!” Harry shouted, he wasn't sure how much trouble Theodore would be in but he certainly didn't want to add to it, “It was something I-”

 

Harry looked everywhere but at Professor Snape.

 

“Something I learned myse-”

 

“You're a terrible liar, Potter,” Professor Snape said suddenly, “I taught it to him.”

 

Lily slowly turned to face Professor Snape, a look of surprise on her face.

 

“You taught him,” she said, quietly.

 

Harry flinched. Professor Snape was really in for it, his Mum only used her quiet voice when she was really hacked off.

 

“Yes,” Professor Snape said, “he has a natural talent. It was under the Headmaster's sanction of course-”

 

“That's dark magic, Severus!” Lily snapped, “You're teaching a twelve year old dark magic. Magic about fear and death and- what did you say again in fifth year? Theoretical, spiritual termination! Or was that all an obfuscation for an ugly, crude bit of torture!”

 

From behind the desk Neville had crawled out but he looked like he wanted to crawl right back under it. Even the aurors who weren't rushing about trying to put out still smoking stacks of books seemed surprised by Lily's outburst.

 

“What am I to do when a student presents untamed talent? Let him run about the school causing havoc-”

 

“Don't you dare, Severus!” Lily shouted, “You can be as mean to me as you like but just because you don't have a son of your own to _twist_ \- what would your mother think? What would Eileen say? With her last breath she begged you-!”

 

Professor Snape turned rather quickly and stormed out of the book shop. Harry could see his mother breathing hard, her face blotchy and red as though she were on the verge of tears.

 

“I think under all that greasy hair Snape was crying,” Ron said, with some awe in his voice.

 

“Mrs. Potter actually made Snape cry,” Neville echoed in wonder.

 

None of this mattered at all to Harry who suddenly felt distinctly unwell. He leaned against the desk and slumped a little. Aurors checked Ron and Neville for any injuries and healed any scrapes or bruises that they had. They checked on Harry too who just barely kept himself from sicking up.

 

“That's a nasty burn on that arm,” an auror commented to Ron, “looks like a hand print.”

 

Ron looked at his burn and then glanced at Harry.

 

“He did it by accident,” Ron said.

 

“Mr. Potter would you mind showing me your hands,” the auror asked.

 

Harry held up his hands that seemed as pale and unharmed as always.

 

“Hmph,” the auror said, “must have been a bit of accidental magic from nerves. It'll fade in a day or two after applying some salve, Mr. Weasley there's nothing to be concerned about.”

 

“Are you all right,” Lily said, petting Harry's head.

 

It seemed he wasn't injured, just a bit woozy from all the panic.

 

“Fine, Mum. Sorry,” Harry said, “I didn't mean to make you angry-”

 

“Let's not talk about this right now,” his Mum said, her voice wavering.

 

“Neville! Ron!” Mrs. Weasley had come in like a hurricane with her husband and Ginny who flushed when she saw Harry, “goodness gracious Ronald, where had you got to? And Neville! Your Gran will be in a state when she sees you-”

 

The aurors began to congeal in groups around the shop as Harry was dragged by his Mum to a nearby stack of boxes. She sat down on one and began sobbing into her hands. Harry wasn't sure what to do, he'd never seen his mother this upset. He did the only thing he could and clung to her as she sobbed.

 

“Lily!” Padfoot shouted.

 

“Harry! Oh, thank goodness everyone got out!” James wasn't far behind.

 

“You should have seen it Lils,” Padfoot said loudly, “duels in the streets, there must have been at least twenty wizards and witches in death eater robes, half them didn't even speak English they were probably hired off the continent as a distraction and then-when we couldn't find Miss Gamp we feared the worst but she was dueling just as well as any of us, quite a lady! A far cry from the Scarecrow we knew in school-”

 

“What's wrong?” James said, stricken.

 

Harry helplessly shrugged.

 

“She had an argument with Professor Snape,” Harry stammered.

 

His father took on a thin lipped look of resignation.

 

“I understand, Harry,” he said, “let Padfoot look after you for a while, it's nothing to worry about your Mum will be fine in a few minutes.”

 

“Lils, it's okay,” James said soothingly, as he rubbed his wife's back.

 

A bit dizzy, Harry staggered and nearly toppled over until Padfoot grabbed him. It seemed his nerves that had held out so well during all the excitement were finally cracking.

 

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Harry said, firmly.

 

“Oh, bugger,” Sirius said, with some dismay.

 

And he was, right on Padfoot's good boots.

 


	14. Best Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a little under the weather today but I still managed to pull this together at the last possible moment. Maybe we'll get two chapters in this month. Let's try for it, shall we? 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Best Friends**

 

There were many burning questions on Harry's mind but the one that was bothering him the most, he wouldn't dare ask.

 

 _What happened between Professor Snape and Mum that was so bad?_ Harry wondered.

 

He didn't want his mother to cry like that again, and asking Professor Snape anything at all was simply out of the question. When Harry was summoned by Regulus to the parlour it was almost a relief to calm down the thoughts whirling around in his head.

 

“Prompt as always,” Regulus said.

 

After some decent food and sleep and a lot of healers, Regulus looked much better these days. He had even had his brother get him some robes from his old upstairs bedroom and while a bit out of date, the greens and shimmering patterns made him look much more like a wizard that belonged in Slytherin.

 

Harry felt a little shabby standing around in his trainers and jeans and threadbare purple sweater with a lion on it but he stood his ground and tried to stand up straight the way his Mum insisted.

 

“Tomorrow you're off to Hogwarts,” Regulus said.

 

“Yes sir,” Harry said.

 

“Oh, just Reg is fine,” he said, then smiled at Harry, “considering my brother is your godfather we're practically relations.”

 

“Right,” Harry said.

 

It still made him a little uncomfortable thinking of Regulus as a member of the family. He was so formal and distant and sometimes, just a little bit scary when his eyes would dart to shadows in the dark corners of the house as though he suspected them to come to life.

 

“There are some things I've collected for you,” Regulus said, “to make Slytherin house a little easier this year. I already heard all about Malfoy accosting you in the bookstore and I don't have to ask to figure out the sort of things he said.”

 

“Erhm,” Harry stammered, “well, he was very insistent that I sit with him during the feast.”

 

Harry politely omitted the incident with the book, as it was a bit embarrassing.

 

“As well you should,” Regulus said, “I know your parents don't particularly approve and Sirius would probably turn red and shout a great deal but this is the fact of the matter; you're a Slytherin and while in Slytherin house sticking to the people who can benefit you the most is important for your continued survival.”

 

Harry frowned, “It all seems so serious sir, er- Reg.”

 

Regulus had opened one of the enormous wardrobes in the drawing room and was searching through boxes.

 

“It's your life Harry,” Regulus said, “and whatever you want to do, I promise Slytherin house will get you there. Though it might not be easy or even in the way you want. But you must do a few things for Slytherin house first and one of those things is to convince everyone you're a proper wizard from a proper background. They'll make a show of it, but there have been many half-bloods in Slytherin and even a few muggleborn who have done very well-”

 

“Muggleborns in Slytherin?” Harry said.

 

“Oh yes,” Regulus said, “there have been quite a few though I doubt they admitted it while they were in school. Or perhaps caught on fast enough no one questioned it. I'm sure you've noticed it's a house full of secrets.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, “I had.”

 

Professor Snape and Theodore Nott instantly came to mind. They both had secrets though Harry wasn't sure he wanted to understand any of them. The day he could think like Professor Snape without a twinge of conscience or pull one over aurors the way Theodore had would be a very desperate one indeed.

 

And Malfoy, he was an entirely different matter altogether.

 

“And the biggest secret,” Regulus said, “is just how far you can go with the right friends. Ah- there we are.”

 

From the wardrobe, Regulus pulled out a large flat box. It was pure white with green ribbon around it, as though it had come from a robe shop. But it was a little faded and rather dusty.

 

“Would you mind, Harry?” Regulus asked, “They haven't seen fit to give me back my wand, you see.”

 

“But er- underage magic,” Harry said.

 

“That doesn't matter here,” Regulus said, with an amused smile, “unplottable.”

 

Harry took out his wand and banished the dust, feeling a little twist in his stomach as he did so. It wasn't like he was doing anything wrong under adult supervision but it wasn't like the day in Diagon Alley when he was fighting for his life and so much magic had been going off the aurros couldn't tell who had done what and hadn't seemed to care. This felt more like breaking the law.

 

“Rules are for people with limitations,” Regulus said, a sly look on his face, “the rest of us aren't so picky.”

 

Harry was handed the box and he took it over to the ornate side table with some trepidation. After opening it, he gasped.

 

“Thank-you,” Harry said, he wouldn't have even known to ask for such a gift.

 

“Real robes,” Regulus said, “the casual sort young boys and girls wear when they're on holiday or relaxing in the common room on weekends. I knew no one here would have bothered to find any for you. Throw out the old fashioned collars and they should fit just right, we were almost the same size as boys and I had so many robes I'd never the chance to touch them before I grew out of their size. And to go with-”

 

Regulus pulled out a much larger box and opened it.

 

“A selection of boots, possibly not as perfect as the robes but take whatever you like best and the rest we'll stow away. You never know when someone might need an extra pair.”

 

“Wow,” Harry said, suddenly speechless.

 

“This will make things much easier in Slytherin I promise you,” Regulus said, “weekends may pass by with a lot less harassment from the fifth years.”

 

Harry flushed. He was a bit sore that everyone knew about that, everyone remotely related to Slytherins it seemed. And unlike Ronald Weasley, he wasn't an idiot about accepting gifts.

 

"Thank-you," Harry said. 

 

Regulus put his bony hand on Harry's shoulder.

 

“Harry I want you to think of me as a trusted friend,” Regulus said, “someone you can come to should problems arise. Your parents are very clever people and extremely kind but they don't know what it's like in Slytherin and I dare say, Sirius had never been one to look on that house fondly.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Harry said, hesitantly.

 

“With my health the way it is, it's doubtful I should ever have a proper heir or a family at all and that definitely means no little boys or girls to share my secrets with. I would end up taking them to grave all by myself and that is a dreadful prospect.”

 

Harry nodded, he could understand that.

 

“Sirius isn't the marrying type,” Regulus said, “so having a nephew- well, it's not likely to happen. And these last few months getting to know you, I quite admire your mettle Harry Potter. I should even say, if I'd ever had a son I would have wanted them to be just like you.”

 

Harry couldn't help the flush that crept over his face.

 

“I'm not,” Harry said, “I mean- I'm not anything special.”

 

Regulus smiled mysteriously, “that's where you're very wrong, Harry. You're quite special indeed and not just because you have a family who loves you very much and kind relatives who see to your every need. You're the first Potter in Slytherin in a great many years and a very, very smart little boy. Those are qualities I admire greatly because they make you different. And Slytherins are nothing if not a bit different from what people expect.”

 

“I think I understand,” Harry said, his eyes watering.

 

Harry managed to fight back the tears and rubbed his eyes in what he hoped was a way that wasn't too obvious.

 

“One more thing,” Reg said, “Kreacher!”

 

Regulus snapped his fingers and Kreacher appeared, wretched and tragically wilted as always.

 

“Master Regulus,” he said in a weepy tone, “they was throwing out the Master's things! I tries to stop them but they wouldn't listen!”

 

“It's all right, Kreacher,” Regulus soothed, “we all must make sacrifices. I'll do what I can to keep as much as possible but there are some things we'd best let them carry off so others go unnoticed.”

 

“Yes Master Regulus,” Kreacher said miserably.

 

The unfortunate house elf didn't seem to be happy about the aurors recent cleaning spree in the house, though Harry was a little relieved. It wasn't a prospect he relished, accidentally touching a cursed object and having to be taken to St. Mungo's because the book he'd reached for had been on a shelf covered by magical rubbish. Even if he'd had to sit through Kreacher screaming obscenities at Padfoot during dinner...

 

“I have a job for you to do, Kreacher,” Regulus said, “and it's extremely important. Of the highest order, do you understand? And I can entrust no one but you to carry it out.”

 

“Yes Master Regulus!” Kreacher said, his eyes growing round and watery at the prospect.

 

“This is young Harry Potter, I recently made him my heir-”

 

“Master Regulus!” the house elf shrieked, “what would the Mistress say! A half-blood muggl-”

 

“She's dead, Kreacher,” Regulus said, solemnly, “and really won't know the difference one way or the other.”

 

Kreacher whimpered into his filthy apron but held back his tirade.

 

“Because I have no heir and I doubt I shall ever have one in the future- please don't cry Kreacher, it's simply the way it is- Harry Potter is the natural choice. Tomorrow, he'll be going to Hogwarts and I want you to keep an eye on him Kreacher, as best you can. And should he need anything at all, you're to provide it. Do you understand Kreacher?”

 

“Y-yes Master Regulus!” the house elf whimpered.

 

To Harry's mild alarm the house elf hobbled over to Harry and clutched his hand.

 

“Master Regulus says to look out for the mudblood heir,” Kreacher said miserably, “Kreacher will do as he's told. Harry Potter ought to know how honoured it is to be taken in the house of black, he'd be an urchin in the street without them.”

 

Harry wondered exactly how much Kreacher made up in his head about his family to fit in with his deranged worldview.

 

Regulus shrugged helplessly, “he's a little- _troubled_ these days. But Kreacher is very noble and he'll help you do whatever you wish at Hogwarts should you need it. I trust I don't have to warn you not to abuse the privilege.”

 

“No sir,” Harry said, “er- Reg.”

 

The feeling of warm house elf fingers pawing at him was making him feel uncomfortable. House elves were fascinating magical beings but being this close to one was a little unsettling.

 

“Thank-you, Kreacher,” Harry said.

 

Kreacher looked up at him with a miserable expression.

 

“I does what I'm told because Master Regulus says so,” he said, bitterly.

 

With a snap, Kreacher disappeared. It was rather well timed as Sirius burst in not a moment after.

 

“What are you saying to my godson?” Sirius demanded, looking cross.

 

“We're having a chat about Slytherin house,” Regulus said, “go on, Harry. Your parents are surely waiting for you and I hear supper is going to be one of your father's excellent breakfasts.”

 

Harry stacked his boxes and and quickly fled the parlour as Sirius it seemed was in the mood to have a few heated words with Regulus.

 

“All right, Harry?” Sirius asked him.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “never better.”

 

Having one of Sirius' cold assessing looks directed towards him wasn't something Harry relished but his expression warmed once satisfied that his godson hadn't been tormented in some way by his younger brother. Sirius made his way into the parlour and kicked the door behind him. It wasn't a few steps down the hall until Harry could hear muffled shouting and rather impassioned arguing. As this was a usual activity between the two brothers, Harry just hoped they didn't break anything too interesting before he could get a look at it.

 

That night after an excellent supper (which had been a delicious breakfast with bacon and eggs and toast that was perfectly done on a fork by the fire, wizarding style) with the family still gathered around the table Harry noticed a few pointed looks being passed around.

 

“Come sit on my knee,” Lily said.

 

Harry wondered what it was all about as he got down from his bench and sat, rather awkwardly on his Mum.

“You're almost too big,” Lily said, sadly.

 

“Mum!” Harry whined, “You're getting soppy again.”

 

“I'm your mother dear,” Lily said, “who has a little boy all grown up and going to Hogwarts for a second year.”

 

“That's why we wanted to give you some extra encouragement to put your best foot forward,” James said, ruffling Harry's hair.

 

Harry tried frantically to pat it down, if his Dad only knew how much time he spent flattening it in the morning before school...

 

“We can't pick your friends for you,” James said.

 

“Or your enemies,” Sirius said, with a wry smile.

 

“But I want you to know that we're here for you,” James said, “no matter what sort of people cause you trouble or what anyone says about who you have to be friends with or what you have to do in Slytherin to get along.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, he felt a bit embarrassed, “I'm not- I mean, I know I don't have to do anything I don't feel is right or anything like that-”

 

“That's not what we mean,” Sirius said, “I mean sometimes friends can get us into trouble even if they mean well.”

 

“Where's Moony?” Harry suddenly asked, it wasn't anywhere near the full moon and his absence seemed rather strange.

 

“He's very busy right now,” James said, “work for Headmaster Dumbledore. He'd be here with us if he could.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “well ehrm- about friends-”

 

He wasn't sure how to begin.

 

“Go on,” James said, “you can tell us anything.”

 

It did seem that way sitting on his Mum's knee with his Dad looking so concerned but Harry could also catch the shrewdness in Sirius' eyes. It felt a little like they were fishing for something, and Harry had an idea what that might be.

 

“Is it true that if someone were to help their relative do something-” Harry hesitated, “something quite terrible, that they'd be sent to Azkaban too, even if they were my age?”

 

“Are you asking about your friend Theodore?” James said.

 

He used the word 'friend' with a bitter twist that made Harry feel annoyed.

 

“Millicent said so,” Harry said, “she really went mental when he showed up, shouted all kinds of things at him.”

 

“When did he show up?” James said.

 

“Ehrm, before Ron and Neville came running from the book shop,” Harry said, “Theodore saved me-”

 

“He did what?” James said, evidently surprised.

 

“He saved me,” Harry reiterated, “he grabbed my arm and Ginny was with me so he hauled us out and into the street. I didn't want to say anything because he might be in trouble and it didn't seem important at the time with all the rest going on.”

 

Sirius shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and James took a deep, nervous sounding breath.

 

“It's all right Harry, no one's going to put any little boys into Azkaban I promise,” James said, “the thing is, at your age children are still under the supervision of their parents most of the time. If Theodore had done something-”

 

“He hasn't!” Harry insisted.

 

“-If he had, done something more terrible than love his father and open doors for him, oh yes, the aurors know all about what he does and for whom, then Harry it would be up to the wizangamot what to do. But I think that they would do what they have done in most cases like this, simply find another place for him to live.”

 

“So if Hadrian Nott went to Azkaban,” Harry said, “then Theodore would go to ehrm, Millicent's or something?”

 

“More like Mr. Malfoy's” James said, ruefully, “they're very fast friends. But the problem is, though we have many witnesses and a lot of nasty charges Hadrian Nott has a difficult time being put anywhere he doesn't really want to be.”

 

“There's no solid proof,” Sirius said, “he's very careful not to leave evidence and very cautious. If we said he was at the book shop he'd have ten esteemed wizards bought off in advance that would say otherwise. The wizangamot the way it is now won't hold children's tales or even your own mother's testimony as anything at all. And Snape- well, he'll never testify.”

 

“And that's one thing I can't blame him for,” James said, “Nott really has it out for Snivellus and a move like that could cost him his life.”

 

“He called him a traitor,” Harry said.

 

Lily tightened her grip around Harry's middle.

 

“Exactly,” James said, “he became very close to Voldemort then betrayed his trust and in Hadrian's eyes that's the most grievous of insult.”

 

“Harry I would appreciate it if you listen to what I'm saying very carefully,” Sirius said, “right now it's all fun and games to Theodore, he doesn't know what he's doing. His future seems very far off and he's doing what his Dad says because it hasn't messed up his life so far. But there will come a time-”

 

Harry felt an awful dread swirl in his stomach.

 

“-when he'll have to make a choice. And it'll be between you and his father. And I can tell you from experience, a boy like that won't choose you. So think on that and I won't say another thing about being his friend but if we catch you anywhere near Bergedwyld castle or those grounds, Snape's detentions will seem like a cake walk. And if he ever _ever_ tries to take you anywhere or acts suspicion you're to get away from him right away. Go to a Professor or to Headmaster Dumbledore or if no one else is available, a prefect. His father wants revenge and he'd be satisfied getting a hold of you or your mother, Harry. It's not Theodore we're worried about, it's him. Understood?”

 

It took everything not to angrily shout at Sirius, that Theodore wasn't his father. He wouldn't be like that. But it made Harry feel sick thinking on it because if someone had asked him to choose between his friends or his family- he knew quite clearly who would win out.

 

That night Harry barely slept at all and felt like his head would explode with all the thoughts whirling in it like dervishes. When morning came Harry wasn't nearly as ready as he'd thought he'd be and spent many minutes packing and re-packing his trunk until his mother helped in him desperation.

 

“Hurry, Harry!” she reminded him, “We're due at the Weasleys in only a few minutes!”

 

“I know!” Harry shouted, frustrated.

 

He squashed down the boxes Regulus had given him and the boots he had picked out and finally managed to close his trunk just as his Dad burst into his room and hurriedly carried it downstairs.

 

“Ready for Hogwarts?” Sirius said, full of vigor and energy.

 

Harry wanted to crawl back under his covers and go to sleep.

 

“I suppose,” Harry said, hesitantly.

 

When they arrived and jumped out of the Burrow's floo, the Weasleys were no more organized than Harry had been. They were still an awful lot of children with red hair running about trying to gather all their things and Arthur ran up to James apologetically.

 

“We had a bit of a sleepy start this morning,” Arthur said, “we'll take the car, should be easier with all those muggles about. Charmed larger inside, you know! But er- don't say a thing to Molly.”

 

“Mums the word,” James said, with an amused grin, “anything we can do to help?”

 

“Get out of the way!” Molly bellowed, hands on her hips, “out with you, out! Out! It's confusing enough with the ones we've got!”

 

Lily giggled and dragged Harry out into the yard full of chickens that eagerly began to swarm around Harry's shoes. They probably thought they were getting another round of corn feeding, Harry had to stomp his feet loudly before they scattered.

 

“What're you doing here?” Ron said, loudly as he trundled down the front steps.

 

“Came with my Dad to rescue Neville from himself,” Harry said, “what else?”

 

“Neville's already got rescued,” Ron said, “we rescued him last night. His Gran wasn't going to let him come back to Hogwarts but we flew to get him in the car and-”

 

“Ronald Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley shouted, “I hope your things are all packed and already in the car!”

 

They most certainly weren't so Ronald took off back into the house, his feet pounding on the wooden floor so hard Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he'd gone all the way through it running up the stairs.

 

“And you-!” Molly had begun to shout at Harry until she realized Lily had been standing behind him.

 

“We'll be in the car with Ginny,” Lily offered.

 

“Thank-you dear,” Molly said, “this is the worst morning I've had in an age, not since Fred-”

 

If they had waited for Mrs. Weasley to finish, it would have been even longer before everyone was ready.

 

“Run to the car and I'll follow,” Lily said quietly into Harry's ear.

 

He took off and flung himself in the back seat, nearly going out the other side when Ginny opened the back door.

 

“Hi Harry,” she said.

 

“Hullo,” Harry said on all fours, his glasses skewed on his face.

 

He scrambled into a seated position as Ginny clamoured into the car.

 

“We're going to be so late,” Ginny said, “and Ron didn't even pack last night, he flew in the car with Fred and George to get Neville.”

 

“Why'd they have to rescue Neville,” Harry asked, “besides the usual reasons, that is.”

 

“His Gran wasn't going to allow him to come back to Hogwarts,” Ginny said, “some house elf went mental and kept telling him he was in great danger and I guess his Gran caught the poor thing and gave it what for. Now she's convinced it was sent by someone who wanted Neville harmed – or worse.”

 

“That is a bit odd,” Harry said, “a family has to order a house elf to do something, so it is very suspicious that one should suddenly show up like that and say all sorts of things.”

 

“I don't know much about them,” Ginny said, she glanced at Harry, “do you have a house elf?”

 

“A rubbish one who doesn't listen to a thing I say,” Harry said, “and it wasn't me, if that's what you're getting at.”

 

Ginny looked at him shrewdly, “I never thought it was. Besides, you're smart enough not to get caught.”

 

Harry wasn't sure if he should be flattered or offended.

 

“How is it,” Ginny suddenly asked, “in Slytherin?”

 

“All right,” Harry lied, “are you worry about where you'll get sorted? Your whole family has been in Gryffindor. I'm sure you'll be sorted there too.”

 

Ginny looked down at her hands, “not sure if I want to be in Gryffindor. Like you said, everyone in my family's been in Gryffindor. Maybe I'll try for Hufflepuff instead, I can't imagine Ravenclaw is very exciting at all.”

 

“That's where I wanted to be sorted,” Harry blurted.

 

Ginny's eyes widened, “why weren't you? You're plenty smart.”

 

Harry was about to say that the sorting hat had other ideas but he snapped his mouth shut as the car doors opened and all the Weasleys and Harry's parents squeezed themselves inside. Though the car interior had been expanded greatly with Arthur's charms it was still a tight fit for so many people. Harry was squashed tightly next to Ginny who looked uneasy after their conversation about Hogwarts houses. Ron was on the other side of Harry and he kept giving Harry suspicious looks, as though he had done something to warrant them despite having spent most of his time in the car.

 

Worst of all, Neville was on the other side of Ron and almost immediately he kept claiming he had forgotten things.

 

“What about Gran's remembrall?” Neville asked for probably the fourth time.

 

“In your trunk dear,” Molly said, with the tone of someone who was entirely too used to entertaining children and their endless questions, “we packed your bags last night just to be sure, remember?”

 

Finally, Neville was satisfied that this time he hadn't forgotten anything and might be ready for the school year. Harry slumped in his seat and tried to nap on the way there so that he might be more alert on the train but then Ron and Neville began having a lengthy, whispering conversation next to him.

 

“Do you think the elf did something to your wand, too?” Neville said.

 

“I haven't got a clue,” Ron hissed back, “all I know is, if I can't figure it out I'm stuck for Hogwarts this year. Dad asked me to cast a drying charm to see how I was doing with them and it nearly roasted my jumper. And when I tried to stack all my papers in a pile, they _exploded_.”

 

“No!” Neville said aghast, (it would have been even funnier if Neville's terrified voice weren't keeping Harry awake), “that's horrible!”

 

“Don't say anything to Mr. Potter,” Ron said, pitifully, “Mum can't afford a new wand and I can't have them buying another.”

 

“I won't,” Neville assured him.

 

There was enough adult conversation going on around them and noise from the other Weasleys that no one noticed Ron and Neville at all. Harry had scrunched himself into a ball and had just began to nod off when Ginny let out a distressed sound.

 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, his head must have fallen on her shoulder accidentally, “didn't sleep well last night.”

 

“Me neither,” Ginny said, in a very high pitched squeak, “I kept- thinking about the shop. And other things.”

 

“Me too,” Harry mumbled and then tried valiantly to sleep through Ron and Neville sharing quidditch moves before the car arrived at the station.

 

It was another whole ordeal organizing the twins, Percey, Ron, Neville, Ginny and Harry along with the rest of the Weasley family and Harry's own godfather, Dad and Mum. Everyone was tearing around at all angles and after a muzzy and uncomfortable sleep Harry felt dreadful and overtired, fully expecting a headache to come on at any time.

 

“Here's your trunk,” Harry's Dad said with entirely too much cheer, “ready for the train?”

 

They stacked all the children's things on trolleys and slowly, the Weasleys began to make their way towards the station.

 

“I think so,” Harry said.

 

“Sure you don't want an owl for school?” James said, “I could send you one of your own.”

 

“It's all right,” Harry said quickly, he'd had enough trouble with Erowyn as it was who was fiercely loyal to his Dad and liked Padfoot well enough but seemed to have it out for Harry and enjoyed crashing into his porridge at breakfast as if to make a point.

 

“Uncle Peter promised me something special at Christmas and we're only allowed one animal per student.”

 

“Oh yes, that's right,” James said, “I forgot. Well, if Erowyn is being temperamental you can always use Neville's owl Hedwig, give her enough treats and she'll send whatever you'd like. Ron does all the time!”

 

Harry was diplomatic enough not to mention he wouldn't send anything important that had to pass by Neville's anything, for fear it would become lost.

 

“Best be off James,” Lily said, “we're already quite late, the train will be leaving in ten minutes!”

 

Ginny was straggling behind and Lily went to help her with her trolley as Molly was giving a stripping down to the twins who had been planning something for Percey's train ride. Eventually, they all made it to platform 9 ¾ in one piece, though rather out of breath and the twins, Percey, Molly and Arthur quickly vanished through the platform.

 

“Goodness,” Lily said, “best hurry Ginny!”

 

“M-maybe we can sit together on the train,” Ginny stammered.

 

“Think the car will be a bit full with Theodore and Hermione's ravenclaw friends,” Harry said, entirely distracted by Ron's wand giving off a few sparks from his jumper pocket for apparently no reason at all.

 

“Oh,” Ginny muttered, looking disappointed.

 

Finally in desperation, Lily gave Ginny a push towards the platform and they went through together.

 

“All right,” James said, “you three best be off.”

 

“Don't forget to write,” Padfoot said, in a despairing tone, “I only got five letters before Christmas last year!”

 

“I won't forget,” Harry said, grinning, “I promise at least six!”

 

He was quite happy at the thought that Neville was probably looking at the ground enviously, as he often did when Harry's Dad and godfather were being mushy.

 

“Good on you,” James said, “wouldn't want Padfoot dying from loneliness. Off you go!”

 

Harry snapped his attention to the platform and went at a good run.

 

However, when he was about to go through the wall suddenly became quite solid and he found himself toppling over in a dramatic fashion, nearly squashed by his trunk.

 

“Harry! Look out!” Neville shouted.

 

Neville and Ron had both also been running at the same time, so Harry again narrowly missed being crushed by two much larger boys and their myriad of things.

 

“Good gravy what's this?” James cried.

 

Padfoot and James began tapping the wall.

 

“Sealed shut,” Padfoot said, his eyes began darting around the platform as though waiting for an ambush.

 

The whole thing made Harry feel very uneasy, after all they had just survived an incredible catastrophe at Diagon Alley and while the casualties had been very low (only one auror, which had been touted in the prophet as tragic but also miraculous considering the damage done to Flouish and Blott's) they were heading to Hogwarts with the Boy Who Lived. Who wasn't only a magnet for misfortune generally caused by his own clumsiness but also for death eaters seeking revenge.

 

“Padfoot, would you mind terribly checking to see if the area is secure?” James said.

 

“I'll be right back,” Sirius said.

 

Having experienced security checks by aurors before, Harry knew Padfoot was looking for a quite corner to cast a few spells. Everyone gathered up their spilled over things and Harry sat wretchedly on his trunk and watched the minutes tick by anxiously on the large station clocks until he was sure the train would have already left.

 

“Uhm, Mr. Potter,” Ron asked, “if we can't get in, do you think everyone else can't get back?”

 

“Seems rather likely,” James said, “fortunately, I've thought of something.”

 

James gave them all a wink and Harry didn't feel particularly comforted. This was going to be what his mother termed one of his Dad's _brilliant ideas_ , reserved for when things went particularly pear shaped.

 

“Someday James Potter,” Harry's mother often said when presented with such a scheme, “your infamous luck will run out! And I just hope no one ends up in St. Mungo's because of it!”

 

And Harry's mother hadn't even known about that one time Sirius, James and Harry had all flown on a broom through a deserted muggle high rise, which Harry had been explicitly instructed to never _ever_ tell his Mum about no matter what.

 

“All clear,” Sirius said, as he returned.

 

“Right,” James said, “nothing for it then, we'll take the car!”

 

Harry's sense of foreboding increased but Ron and Neville both looked terribly excited.

 

“But Dad,” Harry said, “couldn't we just send an owl to Hogwarts or something?”

 

James and Sirius looked at one another as though what Harry said was the maddest thing they had ever heard.

 

“Of course not!” Sirius said.

 

“That would be foolish!” James said.

 

After hauling everyone's things through the station and out towards the car, they loaded up again and the three boys sat in the backseat together while Sirius and James struggled through the controls.

 

“How did Arthur ever charm this muggle monstrosity himself?” James said.

 

“Oh erhm,” Ron said hesitantly, “I can drive it. We drove to fetch Neville from his Gran's house that one time and-”

 

“You can?” James said excitedly “well, get up here next to Padfoot and we'll be off.”

 

Ron flushed red, he was obviously quite thrilled to be noticed. The car was still magically enlarged so it was no problem at all for Ron and his long legs to climb into the front seat next to two grown men. He began fiddling with the controls while Neville leaned over eagerly watching them at it.

 

Harry felt more and more uneasy as the car lifted off the ground, not only because Neville's owl was shrieking irritably.

 

“Uhm Dad,” Harry said, “most muggles aren't accustomed to seeing a flying car!”

 

“I'll hit the invisibility booster,” Ron said, struggling to find it.

 

It seemed an awfully long time before the car finally vanished but eventually the muggles below them stopped pointing and began looking around frantically scratching their heads instead. Quickly they rose higher and higher until Harry couldn't stand to see the buildings become so small underneath his feet.

 

“Will you look at that!” Sirius said, excitedly, “It's all of London!”

 

Harry peered out his car window again and instantly regretted it, there deep below him swirled the entire city of London, glittering and smoky. If the death eaters attacked now on their broomsticks, there'd be nothing left of them once the car finished falling...

 

“Uh-oh,” Ron said, “I think the booster's faulty!”

 

“Blast,” James said, “think we could charm it invisible?”

 

“Wouldn't want to risk it,” Sirius said, “car might disappear out from under us, we're not entirely sure which charms Arthur used to begin with.”

 

“Good point,” James said, drowning out the panicked squeak that had come from Harry.

 

“Isn't it fantastic, Harry?” Padfoot said, jovially.

 

The owl shrieked as Harry dug his hands deeper into the car upholstery.

 

“Lovely,” he managed, feeling queasy, “how long do you think it will take until we reach Hogwarts?”

 

“Considering how long it takes the train,” James said, “about four hours at least, I'd imagine. Go up higher, Ron, I think those muggles are putting out the wash, wouldn't want the ministry to catch us at it!”

 

“Just like old times, then!” Sirius crowed.

 

At least his Dad and his godfather were having a wonderful time, Harry thought grouchily. He would have attempted to catch some more sleep but the very thought made him think twice. If he were about to meet his end, he'd at least like to know about it beforehand.

 

“Toffees anyone?” Sirius said, handing Neville a bag.

 

It was quickly passed around and once Ron had taught James how to drive the car he crawled back into the seat next to Neville so he could eat half the bag.

 

“Have anything to drink?” Ron asked.

 

“In Lily's rucksack,” James said, “don't let me forget it before we hop out!”

 

There was a glass jar of Tropicana that was quickly shared around as a kind of muggle delicacy. Harry was used to it from the local convenience store that had been near his old house, Neville, however, thought it was brilliant.

 

“Muggles must do all right then,” he said, “if they can squeeze oranges without magic!”

 

“Really,” Harry said, “what did you think, they all did it by hand?”

 

“Dad had an orange squeezer once,” Ron said, as if the very concept were news to Harry, “he said that's how they did it and I suspect he'd know!”

 

“Only if they're over seventy,” Harry said, “most people just buy it already in the box because it makes the most sense.”

 

“You were friends with muggles?” Neville said, as though it had never occurred to him at all that Harry might have lived in a great big muggle house for years and years when he was a child.

 

“Yes!” Harry snapped, “I went to muggle primary too.”

 

“What was that like?” Ron asked.

 

“Normal,” Harry said, peevishly, “better than being taught by your Mum!”

 

“Boys,” James said, warningly, “best not to start any fights this high up.”

 

“There's a reason wizards stopped dueling on broomsticks,” Sirius said, as though dispensing wisdom.

 

That reason was generally that wizards and witches weren't stupid enough to attempt it but Harry kept his thoughts to himself and stuffed his mouth with the remaining toffees instead, until his teeth were nearly glued shut.

 

After several long, uneventful hours, all the terror and excitement rapidly dwindled into an extremely boring car ride with Neville pointing at everything from his window in an excited tone.

 

“Look churches!” he cried, for what was the fiftieth time as the car dipped below the clouds to check on the progress of the train, “And what are those things?”

 

“Ehrm,” Ron said, “I think those are police cars.”

 

“Oh, Look! They're following us!” Neville said.

 

“Oh dear,” James muttered and popped back up above the clouds.

 

The sun beat down on them and Sirius had to cast cooling charms very carefully to keep them all from sweating to death until finally, the sun dipped lower and lower and they were engulphed in a starry night sky.

 

“Almost there,” James said, “how is everyone doing?”

 

“I think Hedwig is ready to burst from boredom,” Harry said, “she keeps trying to peck at me through her cage.”

 

“This is the best time I've ever had,” Neville said firmly.

 

Harry gave him an incredulous look, what sort of summer had Neville been through that a death defying drive in a flying car was an improvement?

 

“This is the best, Mr. Potter!” Ron said, enthusiastically.

 

“Well I'm glad we're doing all right consid-”

 

The strange whining sound hit a fever pitch and Ron blanched while Neville let out a horrid squack. Harry grabbed Hedwig's cage and held onto it tightly because he certainly wasn't about to grab onto Neville who was surely somehow responsible for any imminent disaster.

 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Sirius swore.

 

“I think-,” Ron stammered, “well the car it's never been this far before, must be tired!”

 

“It's never been this far before!” Sirius shouted, “Might have been something to mention since it could have gotten us all killed!”

 

Ron looked terribly embarrassed and if the situation hadn't been so serious, Harry would have laughed.

 

“It's all right Sirius,” James said, “we're almost there anyway.”

 

The whining sound grew stronger and a terrible crunching sound joined it. They were still much too high up to ever survive a jump, Harry thought wretchedly.

 

The car began to drop lower and lower but Harry could see Hogwarts beautiful towers in the near distance.

 

“Hold on!” James shouted.

 

The car narrowly missed one of the stone turrets and then began to spin violently in the air. With a mighty crank, James managed to begin a gentle descent that unfortunately became a sudden drop as the car finally gave out and refused to hover any longer.

 

With a crash all five were thrown about in the car as they plunged, to Harry's dismay, into the whomping willow.

 

“Everyone all right?” Sirius asked.

 

Both Harry and his father were struggling to right their glasses. Ron and Neville were unharmed though Neville had a shiner on his forehead from hitting the front seat so hard.

 

“All right everyone down we go-” James was cut off by the sound of glass breaking.

 

The whomping willow had begun flailing, trying to relieve itself of the strange metal object that had perched in its branches. The car was thrown rather far onto the ground, and having had enough, the five occupants were thrown from the inside, along with their luggage.

 

Hedwig shrieked indignantly as Harry caught her.

 

“That's my owl!” Neville said protectively.

 

His shiner had blossomed into the size of a golf ball.

 

“Better look after it then,” Harry said, throwing the cage at Neville.

 

It hit Neville's nose but Harry hardly cared.

James was gathering up the suitcase and stacking them neatly with a hovering charm. The womping willow shivered its branches threateningly but they had thankfully been thrown far enough away that it wouldn't be able to reach them.

 

“All right Harry?” Sirius asked him.

 

“NO I'M NOT!” Harry emphatically yelled, “I spent hours in a flying car and then we fell from the sky and a womping willow nearly turned us into sludge!”

 

“I think he's cracked,” Ron said.

 

“Sounds like it,” Neville agreed.

 

Harry wanted to cry but held himself back. He wouldn't give Ron and Neville the satisfaction. Instead he let out a loud sniff and sat cross legged on the Hogwarts lawn with his arms crossed in front of him and refused to budge.

 

The car however, seemed to have had enough energy to drive off into the forbidden forest but that didn't trouble James or Sirius at all as they had rescued all of their things from it.

 

“Calm down now, Harry,” Sirius said, “we got here in one piece, everyone is safe and accounted for though next time-”

 

And when Sirius said that, he looked directly at Ron who it seemed was trying to disappear into the ground.

 

“-people ought to warn us when things haven't been properly tested!” Sirius finished.

 

After their things had been gathered, James sent their luggage floating into the school with a flick of his wand. Harry was coaxed from his spot on the lawn with the promise of food at the feast and Ron and Neville were just happy to have arrived whole and in one piece.

 

They were almost at the doorway to the great hall when a cold voice spoke to them in a harsh tone.

 

“Hogwarts express too mundane for the famous auror and his little friends?” the Professor said.

 

Harry blanched, Professor Snape didn't look like he was very happy to see any of them. The events in the book shop were still quite fresh in Harry's memory and it seemed they hadn't left Professor Snape's mind at all either. He sneered at Harry and glowered at a covering Neville while Ron had gone nearly as gray as the Hogwarts stones.

 

“Why of course not, Snivellus,” Sirius said, “why bother with the train when we can fly here in comfortable luxury instead?”

 

“Hold on,” James said, “let's get these boys to the feast then we can argue about the why's and wherefores after.”

 

“Oh, I think not,” Professor Snape said with a nasty smile, “come with me. The Headmaster wishes to speak with you. _All of you_.”

 

Harry felt the bottom fall right out of his stomach. If he was hungry before, he certainly wasn't now. Down they went into the dungeons, James and Sirius giving each other slightly worried looks. It was a bad sign when they actually listened to Professor Snape and Harry felt worse and worse as they got closer and closer to the Professor's dungeon office.

 

“Get in,” Professor Snape snarled.

 

The five of them made their way into the office, chairs had been set up for them as though Professor Snape had been expecting them to arrive altogether.

 

“Sit down and do attempt not to cause any more trouble I think these boys have suffered enough at your foolish behest,” Professor Snape said.

 

Harry glanced around at the familiar jars of slimy things and noticed a few more had been added to the Professor's collection. One was the familiar spindly fingers of a Grindylow...

 

“Now just one minute-,” James began, but the door to the office opened.

 

The headmaster had never looked so grave; his expression was very stern and quite serious compared to his usual easy manner. With the greatest irritation he sat down and regarded the five of them over his half moon shaped spectacles. Professor Snape looked as though all his Christmases had come at once and leaned forward eagerly.

 

“Please,” the Headmaster implored, “explain to me why two adult wizards who happen to be aurors attempted something so foolish.”

 

“W-well,” James stammered, “you see, there was a problem with the platform.”

 

“And we tried to do everything we could to get through,” Sirius added, “but there was no getting on.”

 

“Hadn't any of you thought to send an owl?” the Headmaster said.

 

“I did,” Harry added quietly, “told everyone it was a stupid idea.”

 

Sirius gave him a rotten look and Harry staunchly looked everywhere but at his godfather's face. Godfather or not, he wasn't going to get in trouble for their mess.

 

“Now, now,” the Headmaster said gently, “children aren't to blame for the actions of their parents. You're not in any trouble Harry, nor are Neville and Mr. Weasley. Mr. Potter and Mr. Black, I daresay there have been many shenanigans at Hogwarts with rather disastrous consequences and you've certainly helped in that regard throughout your years in this hall. But please explain to me why you thought endangering the lives of your children and the children of others would be an appropriate response to the platform suddenly becoming solid? Surely, you of all people should know how clever death eaters can be, why, if you were attacked mid-air I doubt we'd be speaking together here this evening.”

 

With that said, Harry's father took on the rather crushed look that was usually present when Lily had brought up something terribly obvious he had missed.

 

“I didn't think much about it at the time,” James admitted, “I just wanted everyone to get to Hogwarts safely.”

 

“Oh please,” Snape said, in disgusted tone, “safety was hardly a concern! Let's not forget Headmaster the muggle protection act Potter and his friends so recently flung into the faces of the wizangamot. And then this-”

 

The professor threw down a newspaper that had a rather unfortunate headline; _Floating Ford Anglia Mystifies Muggles!_

 

“practically undermines the entire exercise! Wizards and witches haven't given their lives just so Potter could flounce about with his little friends in floating cars!” Professor Snape snarled.

 

“That's neither here nor there,” the Headmaster said shrewdly, “the important part is that they did arrive safely, despite breaking many a bylaw. But I believe Professor McGonagall has a lot more to say to you and since the matter has been seen to and I can tell the ministry-”

 

“The ministry!” Ron nearly shouted, “Dad isn't in trouble, is he?”

 

Professor Snape gave him such a foul, disgusted look that Ron immediately shut himself up.

 

“No one is at fault,” Headmaster Dumbledore said gently, “except the two gentlemen sitting before me.”

 

The door to Snape's office opened and a very irate, very cross Professor McGonagall strode purposefully into the room. She used her wand to light the fireplace (which Harry was sure almost exploded into flames) and glared, powerfully at James and Sirius.

 

“Bloody hell,” Sirius mumbled, “this brings back memories.”

 

“Do you have any idea,” Professor McGonagall started in, “what I've been put through by Neville's grandmother?”

 

“Some idea, I suspect,” James said, then realized he had made a mistake.

 

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said in a voice so frigid it could have charmed the fires in the great hall into ice, “I have suffered through many pranks, school boy shenanigans and ridiculous activities in my years but never, ever have I been so absolutely disgusted with two grown wizards!”

 

“I believe I shall return to the feast,” the Headmaster said cheerily, “would you mind coming with me Severus? There's a tart I would very much like to sample.”

 

“Mr. Potter you can go,” Professor McGonagall said, “I believe you have friends eagerly waiting for you at the Slytherin table, wondering where you've been. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom, your parents are worried sick and I suggest a fire call from the Headmaster's office when we're done here to assure them you're all right is in order. After that, we shall see about some supper. Mr. Black and Mr. Potter, you will come with me and assist in this matter. I believe Mrs. Augusta Longbottom has something to say to the both of you!”

 

“Good luck second year, Harry!” James said, in a light tone.

 

“Punch a few Slytherins for me,” Sirius offered.

 

Professor Snape made a noise somewhere between a growl and a snarl in his direction.

 

“And they call me the dog,” Sirius said, cheekily.

 

“Mr. Black!” Professor McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip, silencing them all, “off you go, Mr. Potter.”

 

Snape seemed hesitant to leave as the confrontation between Neville's grandmother and the two marauders would have been quite the spectacle. But he was herded outside by the Headmaster and slunk away with him into the dungeon's stone halls.

 

Harry was just happy to have escaped Professor Snape's office without having lost any limbs.

 

Harry quickly traveled the stone hallways until he made it to the great hall. As quietly and cautiously as he could, Harry scurried over to the Slytherin feast table. The feast had been well underway when he had finally made it to the castle and by now was nearly finished. Harry noticed Crabbe and Goyle on either side of Malfoy and he didn't nod or acknowledge Harry in any way. In fact, he looked downright moody. If Malfoy had been upset, Harry would just have to wait to explain why he was so late. Theodore motioned for him to sit down in an empty seat next to him and Millicent.

 

“Where were you?” Millicent said.

 

“Malfoy's terribly offended,” Theodore said, smirking, “thought you were late on purpose.”

 

“As if,” Harry said, “It's – very complicated. Ridiculous auror stuff. Anyway, I think Ron and Neville got into loads of trouble so it might be worth it. Tell you all about it later, I'm starving.”

 

Harry helped himself to some of the fine Hogwarts food on the table, scanning the different house tables for Ginny Weasley wondering where she'd got sorted. The Gryffindor table was noticeably absent a red-headed girl. Same with Hufflepuff and though he could see Hermione's bushy hair in Ravenclaw he didn't see her there either. Harry scrunched his face and adjusted his glasses wondering where she'd got to.

 

“Malfoy can be as cross as he wants,” Millicent said, “Besides, it'll be easier this year since you know someone in Slytherin who can be a look out, besides us of course.”

 

“I know- what?” Harry said, confused.

 

Millicent, who was an extremely sizable girl pushed her chair back and Harry got the shock of his life when he saw a very pale, very nervous Ginny Weasley in the seat behind her.

 

“What are YOU doing here?” Harry nearly shouted.

 

Ginny wailed and fled the table in tears.

 

“She's a bit sensitive,” Millicent said, “but I'm sure she'll toughen up.”

 

“Yeah,” Theodore agreed, “reminds me when you first showed up.”

Harry had his doubts.

 

“Potter!” Harry heard a familiar fourth year shriek at him.

 

“What ?” Harry snapped.

 

The girl was extremely pretty and had long dark hair that she often wore in tiny braids down her back. Her skin was dark brown and she had taken to wearing bright red lipstick at the end of third year, it made her usual haughty expression seem even haughtier. Harry knew her as 'Emmaline' because that's what all the younger year Slytherin girls called her in sickly adoration.

 

“Make that firsty cry again and we'll be having words,” Emmaline said.

 

She was likely to become a prefect in fifth year but at the moment, held the position as a kind of look out for the younger girls in Slytherin house. She was not one of Harry's favourite people and he certainly had never been one of hers. For all her caring for the girls, she had a wide mean streak and enjoyed lording her position over others.

 

“Looks like Pucey finally got his way,” Millicent said, “we'll never hear the end of his gloating now.”

 

Adrian Pucey sat next to the girl, he'd had a crush on her since Emmaline's third year but hadn't made a move at all until the feast. It seemed his overtures had gone swimmingly.

 

“That's all Harry needs,” Theodore said, while stuffing more beef pie into his face, “the two bullies who dislike him strongest teaming up.”

 

“Shut up Theodore,” Millicent said, “you're only making him more nervous.”

 

Harry hadn't been nervous at all until they began bringing it up. It wasn't an auspicious start to the year, at all.

 

After the feast, the second year Slytherins went down into the dungeons to see their old rooms with a 'Second Years' sign above the doorway. Harry scrunched up his face, as if the boy's dorm needed painted sparkling snakes all over their wooden plaque...one of the girls must have done them.

 

“What's that in your trunk?” Theodore asked, as they unpacked their things.

 

Harry appreciated his cubby more than ever since Theodore's fresh, massive pile of papers was blocking his bed from any lurking prefects.

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “some robes and things. They were gifts.”

 

Theodore snatched the box and undid the wrapper before Harry could get out a shout of annoyance.

 

“Robes!” Theodore said excitedly, “these are brilliant, they must be a hundred years old!”

 

“Very funny,” Harry said, “I'd like to see when your robes were made, probably four hundred years ago. At least these look halfway modern.”

 

Theodore laughed a high, nasally unpleasant sound.

 

“Careful, people might think you like being a Slytherin if you prance around in those,” Theodore said, smugly, “acting like a proper wizard and everything.”

 

Harry gave him an exasperated look, “Please. I've heard enough of that from Malfoy already.”

 

“He told me you were heir to the house of Black,” Theodore said, “that's quite a statement, making a half-blood the heir to a house that has claimed pure blood supremacy for a thousand years.”

 

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable, often he found himself forgetting that Theodore did actually care about that sort of thing, even only as a curiosity.

 

“It's not-,” Harry stumbled, “it doesn't really mean anything.”

 

“Of course it does!” Malfoy snapped.

 

When he had shown up Harry had no idea but Malfoy had leaned haughtily against Harry's four poster bed like he owned the place.

 

“I heard the most ridiculous stories,” Malfoy said, “that you flew in a car with your father to Hogwarts instead of taking the train.”

 

“It's not really a story,” Harry muttered, embarrassed, “I didn't want to! I told everyone it was a bad idea but they insisted, _oh! We'll just fly the car!_ And then hours later, we finally arrived and smashed into the Whomping Willow! It was horrible.”

 

Theodore scrambled off his bed and knocked over two of his teetering paper piles in his enthusiasm.

 

“You never said anything about that!” Theodore said, accusingly, “That's mental! That's wild! It's amazing!”

 

“Oh, budge off!” Harry snapped, slamming closed his trunk.

 

“See?” Malfoy said, “You could have had all the fifth year bullies eating out of your hand if you bothered to mention that the famous aurors Sirius Black and James Potter flew you to school in a magical car,”

 

“And Neville,” Harry said.

 

Malfoy's face scrunched up, “he's rubbish, he doesn't count.”

 

At least one thing Harry and Malfoy could agree on.

 

Malfoy said, “did you even read that book I gave you?”

 

Harry looked up at Malfoy in disbelief. Even if Moony hadn't lit it on fire, after being chased by death eaters and getting ready for Hogwarts and actually having a bit of fun, when would he have had time to get through all that?

 

“Tomorrow after class, the lake. We're having a chat about taking advantage of social climbing opportunities,” Malfoy said, “obviously, you need lessons!”

 

With a dramatic turn, Malfoy stormed out of their dorm and knocked over one of Theodore's stacks directly into Harry's cubby.

 

Harry sighed, deeply.

 

“This is going to be a great year,” Theodore said, sniggering, “I can't wait to see how this one cocks up.”

 

“Shove it, Theo,” Harry said, tetchily.

 

He gathered as many papers as he could and shoved them all in Theodore's direction but dropped a few as he was piling them in.

 

“What's this?” Harry asked.

 

There was a small, tidy leather bound notebook in amongst the yellowish papers and ratty looking pages.

 

“Oh that,” Theodore said, annoyed, “Mr. Malfoy gave that to me, he said my Dad would have wanted me to have it. _Mr. Riddle taught your father a great deal they were the best of friends, it ought to pass to you_ or some such rubbish. I don't know, I wasn't really listening. I heard the words Tom Riddle and stopped paying attention. As if I'd want a book written by him!”

 

“It's blank inside,” Harry said, “I think he just gave you one of his old empty notebooks. T. M. Riddle over here and on the back _Winstanley's Bookstore and Stationers_ , _Vauxhall Road_. Oh! That's a muggle shop in London! Tom Riddle must have been muggle born.”

 

That made things much more interesting to Harry but Theodore didn't show the least bit of curiosity about it.

 

“If it's an empty notebook take it for potions or something,” muttered Theodore, “I don't have any use for it.”

 

He quickly grabbed an old, musty smelling book from his stacks and began reading it sourly.

 

Harry stuffed the little notebook in his night stand for later and forgot entirely about it by morning.

 

At breakfast it became apparent that Malfoy had spilled the entire story at bed check to anyone who would listen.

 

“All right, Harry?” shouted Marcus Flint, captain of the quidditch team.

 

“That was amazing!” Bletchley said as he clapped him on the back.

 

It seemed the only Slytherins congratulating Harry were Malfoy's quidditch friends but that didn't stop Malfoy. He looked extremely proud and even pulled out a seat next to Goyle for Harry to sit in.

 

“Thought I'd sit with Millicent and Ginny,” Harry attempted,” I'm not sure how her parents are taking her sorting.”

 

Sitting squashed between Malfoy and Goyle wasn't exactly his idea of a great start to the morning but Malfoy wasn't deterred.

 

“What would you want with a Weasley?” Malfoy said, nastily, “Sit down, already.”

 

Hesitantly Harry took his seat and miserably sat through being bumped and prodded by Goyle's huge elbows while he eagerly devoured everything in sight.

 

“Looks like Malfoy's got a new hanger on,” Harry heard whispered nastily, “wonder how long this one lasts?”

 

Worse was Ginny Weasley who had glanced at him sitting next to Malfoy and flushed scarlet. Harry shrugged at her, hoping it would indicate that it wasn't his idea. But she seemed intent on ignoring him instead.

 

“Didn't think a mudblood could get in with the Malfoys,” another older boy whispered.

 

The problem with attention in Slytherin house was that it rarely stayed a good thing.

 

“He made top of his year with that swotty little ravenclaw,” a different boy reminded his friend, “probably so good with dark magic he can do it in his sleep.”

 

“I don't care how many cars he flies to Hogwarts in or how much dark magic he does,” a sixth year girl hissed, “he's still only half a wizard!”

 

Feeling his mood sinking lower, Harry played with his porridge more than ate it and tried not to watch Crabbe and Goyle mangle their sausages with their teeth, until finally the mail began to arrive.

 

There was a letter from his Dad and Harry grabbed it quickly before Malfoy could snatch at it. Inside, there was a sheepish apology about causing Harry trouble (Harry had no doubt his Mum had heard all about the incident in great detail from Professor McGonnegall and had put his Dad up to it) and a reminder to write home more often because Sirius was in a sulk without him.

 

“Longbottom's got himself a howler!” a second year Gryffindor crowed in delight.

 

All the Slytherin heads eagerly swiveled towards the Gryffindor table, including Harry. Having never gotten a howler himself, he was curious what exactly it would do. It didn't bode well that Goyle already had his hands clamped over his ears and soon Harry found out why.

 

The rush of noise was so loud the entire hall might as well have exploded. Mrs. Longbottom's voice was ratcheted off the ceilings and walls and had become so loud it caused the old iron windows to rattle.

 

HOW DARE YOU RUN OFF WITH THOSE RED HEADED MANIACS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT WHEN WE WERE ALL WORRIED TO DEATH ABOUT THE ATTACKS AND DON'T YOU DARE SUGGEST IT WAS ALL RIGHT THAT AURORS DROVE YOU THE SECOND TIME AROUND EVEN WORSE CAVORTING OFF WITH IMPRESSIONABLE YOUNG CHILDREN-

 

Some of the Slytherins glanced at Harry but he kept his eyes on Neville and hoped he wasn't turning too red in the face.

 

BET YOUR STARS I GAVE THEM AN EARFUL IN THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE DON'T YOU DARE, EVER, TRY A TRICK LIKE THAT AGAIN-

 

With some pleasure Harry noticed Neville had sunk so low in his seat just the tips of his ears could be seen above the chair.

 

AND AFTER MR. AND MRS. WEASLEY HAD DONE SO MUCH FOR YOU A FINE WAY TO REPAY THEM RON'S FATHER IS FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK-

 

When his name was mentioned, Ron turned raddish red to match his hair.

 

AND HIS MOTHER WAS GOING TO SEND HIM A HOWLER BUT I TOLD MOLLY LEAVE EVERYTHING TO ME HE WON'T PUT A TOE OUT OF LINE AFTERWARDS GRYFFINDOR OR NOT-

 

Loud laughter broke out at the Slytherin table.

 

PULL ANOTHER STUNT LIKE THIS AND BOTH YOU AND THAT RAPSCALLION ARE COMING BACK HOME WHY CAN'T YOU TAKE A PAGE FROM HARRY POTTER'S BOOK AND BE SENSIBLE SUCH A NICE QUIET BOY NEVER CAUSES ANY TROUBLE YOU'D DO WELL TO HAVE MORE FRIENDS LIKE HIM AND NOT THE OTHER SORT, SLYTHERIN OR OTHERWISE

 

This time Harry knew he turned red as a tomato, as all eyes at the Slytherin table fell on him.

 

I HOPE YOU'RE SATISFIED WITH ALL THE TROUBLE YOU'VE CAUSED NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM IF YOUR FATHER AND MOTHER WERE ALIVE THEY WOULD HAVE DIED OF _SHAME_ INSTEAD!

 

The howler exploded in a puff of smoke and after a few moments of deafening silence, chatter again broke out in the great hall. There was one sound that hadn't stopped however, and that was the sound of Theodore Nott's nasally laughter.

 

“She thinks you're best friends!” Theodore said to Harry, as though this were the funniest thing in the world.

 


	15. Salypso Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it!!! I never thought I'd make this deadline. TWO chapters this month! Woo hoo! I hope this makes up for that long Christmas break...sorry if there are lingering mistakes. I'll try to make another run through and fix them later. For now, enjoy! I think I'll lay down for a while...

**Salypso Slytherin**

 

The next day, Harry's first class was transfiguration. To his dismay, Professor McGonagall hadn't forgotten the conversation with Harry's father and godfather and kept a close eye on him, as though he would repeat the marauders escapades if she looked away even for a moment.

 

“Transfiguration is a very complex subject,” Malfoy intoned, “I'm not surprised half the class couldn't manage it.”

 

It was obvious Malfoy was only saying something so charitable because his beetles had become pale buttons with legs and still walked around bumping into each other no matter what he tried.

 

Though transfiguration wasn't Harry's strongest subject, he did manage to turn his beetles into buttons, though they remained overly black and shiny and wouldn't turn white no matter what he hissed at them.

 

“A much more delicate touch,” Professor McGonagall said, “would help with that, Potter. Less wild swishing, more gentle tapping.”

 

Harry frowned at his stubborn buttons and tried again to no avail. But to Harry's cheer at least, the only one who seemed able to make perfectly shaped white buttons was Theodore, who had gained a sudden interest in transfiguration and was rather good at it.

 

“When do you think they'll let us try becoming an animagus,” Theodore blustered, “I hear the transformation type has a relationship with a wizard's spirit.”

 

“Bet I'd become something awful,” Millicent said, “like a lizard or a magpie.”

 

“Lizards and magpie's could spy on anybody,” Theodore enthused, “really, anything at all is brilliant! Except maybe a fish or something, you'd be a bit stuck with aquatics.”

 

“I'd like to be a spider,” Harry said, “imagine the things you could get up to! And webs, everywhere!”

 

“Watch out for acromantulas in that case,” Theodore said, “they're cannibals.”

 

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a loud noise.

 

“Ginny! I didn't do it on purpose,” a voice bellowed.

 

Shoving her way between the three of them, a very upset Ginny Weasley went tearing through the hallway, her hair looking very odd, almost like she had a red wig entirely made of feathers on her head.

 

“Ginny!” Ron Weasley tried to follow but stopped short when he realized he had just found himself in the middle of a pack of Slytherin second-years.

 

“You!” Ron said to Harry, “You did something to my wand! Thought that'd make a great practical joke, didn't you?”

 

“What?” Harry shouted back, “I didn't do anything to your stupid wand!”

 

“I'm going to tell McGonagall about this one,” Ron said, “you're in so much trouble!”

 

Wisely, before the other second year Slytherins became hostile, Ron fled through the hallways towards Gryffindor tower.

 

“What was that about?” Millicent asked.

 

“I have no idea,” Harry said.

 

“Making trouble for us again, Potter?” Pansy Parkinson said, “That's all we need, a pack of angry, stupid Weasleys bearing down on us poor second years who haven't done a thing. I might even tell Emmaline all about it.”

 

“Go right ahead,” Theodore snapped at her, “see where it gets you!”

 

Pansy reared back and then hurried to find her other friends, she obviously hadn't noticed Theodore behind Millicent's rather large frame. She began whispering rather frantically to Tracey and it made Millicent go an angry red watching them.

 

“You don't mind that?” Harry asked.

 

“Mind what?” Theodore said.

 

“They're afraid of you,” Harry said.

 

“Shuts them up, doesn't it?” Theodore said, with an odd twist of his mouth.

 

Millicent made a disgusted noise and turned herself away from Pansy and Tracey's gossip.

 

“Harry wasn't ever afraid,” Millicent said, “that's why we like him.”

 

“Exactly,” Theodore said.

 

But Harry couldn't help but wonder if Theodore cared a bit more than he let on about his reputation at school.

 

The class they had next was potions and Harry was quite ready for something that didn't involve swishing his wand wildly at bugs for a few hours.

 

As the class quickly arranged itself into tidy rows just before the Professor stormed in slamming the door behind him. He didn't look like he was in a very good mood and Harry felt extremely uneasy under the Professor's scrutinizing gaze as he took role call.

 

“There will be no foolishness in second year potions,” he intoned, “though some of you have shown remarkable skills while creating highly complex brews-”

 

Malfoy quirked his mouth in a superior smirk as Professor Snape's gaze raked over him.

 

“Others require a great deal of effort to catch up,” he said, as he stared directly at Harry.

 

The Professor walked slowly down the corridors and every Slytherin second year straightened themselves or straightened up the ingredients stacked in their spaces as if the Professor would take marks off for second hand sloppiness from the house elves who had no doubt set everything up that morning.

 

“Unfortunately, it seems potions' proficiency isn't inherited,” Professor Snape said, as he loomed over Harry.

 

“I expect improvement,” Professor Snape said coldly, “otherwise, there won't be any time for extra lessons.”

 

Harry looked up at the Professor who was staring down his large nose at him in what was a decidedly icy way.

 

Harry swallowed thickly and looked down at his potions textbook, wishing he was still transfiguring beetles. They would have been friendlier even while being squashed. The textbook on Harry's desk was suddenly snatched up by potion stained hands.

 

“Not all answers come from books,” Professor Snape said, “you and your little Ravenclaw friend ought to keep that in mind.”

 

The book was slammed back onto Harry's desk and he jumped. He was never entirely sure what Professor Snape was capable of and after spending a year in a forest practicing dark magic, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to know.

 

“This year there will be intense group work with the Gryffindors during double potions, there will be a list posted at the very end of class so that you can see which partner you have for the remainder of the year. I suggest you familiarize yourself with their weaknesses, as it will be on the both of you to produce workable potions. That means if your partner is the worst potion's maker in the school, it falls to the other one to be the best. Any questions?”

 

The sardonic tone the Professor used kept anyone from raising their hands in confusion. He sat down in his seat and opened a book. Then waved his wand at their tables which caused the dry ingredients to leap out of their boxes and arrange themselves neatly in a pile.

 

“Begin the boil shrinking elixir,” Professor Snape said.

 

Unlike the boil shrinking potion they had made the previous year, the elixer was much more difficult. The entire class in almost absolute silence began their work. Harry felt nervous already and didn't do a very good job.

 

“Make sure to add the horned slug shavings last,” Theodore stage whispered to him.

 

Harry nodded, infinitely grateful Theodore had found it in himself that morning to be helpful and not a pest. Finally, when the Professor examined the cauldrons he begrudgingly gave Harry full marks.  
  
“Next time,” Professor Snape said, “you won't have a friend hissing instructions in your ear. Mr. Nott, you will take Potter's assignment loss if he hadn't added the horned slug last.”

 

“What?” Theodore near shouted, “What did I do to deserve tha-”

 

Professor Snape rounded on Theodore, knocking the supplies off his desk causing a fantastic racket that made the whole class start in surprise.

 

“You know very well what you've done,” Professor Snape said in a low, dangerous tone.

 

There was a brief but intense moment when Harry was sure Theodore would burst into tears, instead his face took on an ugly crumpled up look and he managed a gruesome, half cocked grin.

 

“Next time,” Theodore said quietly, with a tremble in his voice.

 

“ _Only in his dreams,_ ” Professor Snape hissed.

 

The class was dismissed and none too soon, Harry glanced at Theodore who still looked wretched and on the verge of tears.

 

“What was that about?” Harry said, “Was he saying that for the reason I thought he was?”

 

“I don't want to talk about it,” Theodore snapped.

 

Millicent blustered and shoved her way to their side through the dispersing students just to give Theodore a lecture.

 

“I don't know what you expected to happen,” she began, “with all the rubbish going on this summer!”

 

“I never asked your opinion,” Theodore said.

 

“In case it's escaped you, dear old Dad isn't very nice to people outside his inner circle much like another dark wizard I could mention! And everyone thinks you're about two steps from becoming just like him so it might be better if you'd leave off the barely veiled threats slung at Professors just in case, oh, I don't know- Headmaster Dumbledore has no choice but to throw you out on your ear!”

 

Theodore flung his rucksack at Harry and took out his wand, pressing it to Millicent's chest. By this point, half the second year Slytherins had lingered after class to see what would happen.

 

“If that's all you can say about it,” Theodore said, “then you can shove off. I never asked you to follow me around like some- some perverted imitation of Crabbe and Goyle did I? And it's not as if you're clever like _him_ -”

 

Harry again felt the hot shade of embarrassment across his cheeks.

 

“Go on, then,” Millicent said, her voice colder than Harry had ever heard, “if I'm so useless, curse me.”

 

“Theo,” Harry tried meekly, “can we just go now?”

 

Theodore's wand hand trembled and for a terrible moment Harry thought he would curse Millicent in front of everybody, just to prove a point.

 

“Can't do it?,” Millicent said, with a bitter smile, “Knew you couldn't.”

 

Then Theodore jabbed his wand into his inside pocket, yanked his rucksack from Harry and stormed out of the classroom.

 

Millicent let out a long breath and then collapsed into the chair. Sweat had gathered near her temples and Harry suddenly realized something rather grave.

 

“You'd thought he'd do it,” Harry said.

 

“Possibly,” Millicent said, “you don't know what's been going on in that house the last few months. I'm not sure if I want to know but my Mum and Dad have been keeping a close eye on things when they can and reporting what they see to the aurors. Poor Theodore is smack in the middle of it, whatever it is, but nobody can figure out how.”

 

“Do you think he'd try and make Theo do something- terrible this year?” Harry asked.

 

“I don't think so,” Millicent said, “At least, not on purpose. His father is in a bad way, if Theodore went elsewhere now, his dad would be sunk without someone to run errands for him all the time. Mum saw Theodore in Knockturn alley just before Hogwarts, I think he was making some kind of deal for his father but he won't tell me a thing. Damn! I hate this sort of stuff, I'm not clever enough to figure it out.”

 

“If you told me,” Harry said, “I could help.”

 

“Don't bother,” Millicent said, in a grumpy tone, “my Dad is cleverer than all of us put together. If he can't figure it out, I doubt anyone else could.”

 

“Fair enough,” Harry said, “but if I find something out by accident, I can go to you?”

 

“Of course you can,” Millicent said.

 

Harry felt a bit better hearing that.

 

“Oh!” Harry said, having just remembered, “let's see who we're partnered with for potions.”

 

While half the class had already left a few stragglers were still reading their assignments.

 

“No!” Millicent nearly shrieked, “I can't be! Not with him!”

 

“What?” Harry said anxiously, “who'd you get?”

 

“Neville Longbottom,” Millicent said, in a despairing tone, “I'm about as good at potion's as he is. We're both sunk.”

 

“That's impossible!” Harry said, referring to both, “maybe my partner and I can he-”

 

Harry let out a gasp.

 

“Ron Weasley,” Millicent said, “looks like our chances at advanced potions are biting the dust this year.”

 

“Who does Theo have?” Millicent asked, “ _Dean Thomas_. Well, I don't have any idea which Gryffindor idiot that is but I'm sure he's better than Neville Longbottom.”

 

“I'm beginning to think Snape has it out for us” Harry said, miserably.

 

“He certainly has it out for Theodore,” Millicent said.

 

After sleeping through history of magic, the day's classes were finally over. Harry shook himself awake and gathered up his books and wished he had been back in his dorm with a hacked off Theodore instead of wasting several hours listening to Professor Binn's drown on about this or that goblin rebellion. Harry wasn't worried about passing since Sirius often liked to give Harry the run down on history during Christmas with silly voices and battling cutlery knowing it was much more entertaining than listening to a ghost mumble at a wooden podium for hours at a time and therefore, more likely to stick.

 

Sometimes during break Harry had the odd feeling that he'd been followed by someone. But no matter how hard he looked he only saw other second year students and the odd prefect. There was something odd about it though, as when he had gone during break to get a book from the library a stack had fallen over by itself. Harry wondered if any students knew enough about glamours to turn invisible but figure that was unlikely as they were very complex spells that even aurors had trouble with.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy said, “what are you doing dazedly staring off into the distance?”

 

“Thinking about how hard it would be to turn invisible,” Harry said truthfully.

 

Malfoy looked at him like he'd gone spare but seemed to recover his composure and leaned up against Harry's desk. Unfortunately, Crabbe and Goyle were also looming at the edges of Harry's glasses, trying to look tough.

 

“I think the lake will be a suitable place for our talk,” Malfoy said, as though he were arranging the greatest of privileges, “come by before dinner and I'll attempt to teach you what my father taught me. I doubt you'll be any good at it, since congeniality has never been your strongest trait-”

 

Harry had quite a lot to say about Malfoy's own winning personality but held back. Just.

 

“-but learning about it might be useful.” Malfoy finished.

 

“Right,” Harry said.

 

Message delivered, Malfoy and his two goons left the classroom. Harry finished packing up his books, dropped them off in his dorm and checked for Theodore. He wasn't in his cubby or in the common room. Steeling himself for the most boring conversation ever, Harry made his way through the dungeons towards the lake.

 

It was at least a beautiful fall day with the sun shining and warmed air with a slight fall nippiness blew over the still green Hogwarts grounds. While beautiful, it was hard to enjoy anything with Crabbe and Goyle looming threateningly as they walked.

 

Malfoy's long rambling diatribes weren't any more endurable either and to make matters worse, Harry had the strangest feeling that he had been followed by someone or something the entire way there. A warm blast of air on the back of his neck when he had stopped suddenly before turning left in the dungeons, had only made him more suspicious. But there wasn't anyone around and unless someone had actually figured out a way to turn themselves invisible, it was simply an impossibility.

 

“I suppose your sort might not understand,” Malfoy said, “but the way things are in the wizarding world today is a far cry from how our magical ancestors would have liked.”

 

Harry knew better than to ask what his sort was and attempted to enjoy the sunny weather by the lake and pretend Malfoy was Professor Binns, whom he had become professional at tuning out.

 

“The four houses at Hogwarts were often split by blood purity,” Malfoy said, “and our house, the best house might I remind you, was touted for pure bloods exclusively.”

 

“That's not accurate,” Harry said, “I know for a fact the Slytherin head boy in 1945 was a muggle born.”

 

During one of Harry's attempts to make friends with Mrs. Norris he had fed her treats in the Hogwarts trophy room. Tom Riddle's name was mentioned twice; once for special services to the school and again for head boy. It was gratifying to see that all the nastiness Slytherins like to spew about pure-blood wasn't always the truth in Harry's house.

 

Malfoy scrunched up his face, “oh please, who told you that? That's certainly a lie, no mudblood or half-blood would have been in that kind of position in Slytherin house then.”

 

“Why not?” Harry asked.

 

“Because if you do the math, around that time the Dark Lord would have been at Hogwarts. And he was most definitely in Slytherin,” Malfoy said.

 

“It's not like he was born a Dark Lord,” Harry said, “had to get there first. He could have been anybody. And it would have been very stupid if he were some kind of evil mastermind to bring attention to himself before getting whatever he got to make himself more powerful.”

 

Malfoy stopped in his tracks and looked at Harry shrewdly.

 

“You've put a lot of thought into this,” Malfoy said.

 

“Not really,” Harry blustered, “I just had a lot of time to think about...things this summer.”

 

After the death eater attacks Harry thought about all the terrible ways his parents could have been killed and did some extra history reading because he would have dropped from anxiety if he hadn't. He was sure Hermione would have done the same if she was in his situation, it was really nothing to be particularly suspicious about.

 

“Maybe you're a Dark Lord in the making,” Malfoy said, smirking.

 

Crabbe and Goyle laughed loudly and stupidly, as though this were the funniest thing ever uttered.

 

“Ha ha,” Harry said dryly, “bet it would be less funny if your Mum were the one death eaters had tried to kill.”

 

“I suppose,” Malfoy said, “but you've been made heir of the House of Black. Being the heir of Potter doesn't matter at all in the grand scheme of things.”

 

“That's my Dad you're slagging off,” Harry said.

 

“ _James Potter the famous auror_ ,” Malfoy said, in a sarcastic tone, “I know all about him. He's killed almost as many dark wizards as Alastor Moody and he's a lot handsomer despite it. Makes me wonder what his secret is.”

 

“His secret,” Harry said, “is that he fights fair. He won those duels himself and everyone knows what goes on in a wizarding duel.”

 

This is what Sirius had always told him, though Harry hadn't always known the details of these things and hadn't known at all that his Dad was responsible for anyone's death outright until Theodore had mentioned it. There were things his parents weren't telling him and it made him more upset thinking about it.

 

“The important part is that you're attached to the proper sort,” Malfoy said, “like I was saying in Flourish and Blott's your mother is a terrible influence and I'm sure many important witches and wizards wouldn't give you the time of day if they knew your shameful secret-”

 

“Shameful secret,” Harry repeated, his voice going flat.

 

“That you're the son of a mudblood,” Malfoy said, in a casual tone.

 

Harry felt every muscle in his body tense.

 

“And while it's not something that the other sort cares about, the really important parts of wizarding society do care. And while your mother flounces about in the wizangamot touting the virtues of the savages that bore her, she's hurting your chances at success.”

 

“My Mum isn't hurting anything,” Harry managed to get out through clenched teeth, “least of all, me.”

 

“If I were you, I'd remove myself from the whole equation,” Malfoy said, as though oblivious to Harry's input at all, “who needs attachment to Lily Potter when you can adhere yourself to Regulus Arcturus Black the famous patriarch and for that matter, who needs James Potter and his pet dog when other, more important people come along.”

 

“Like you, I suppose?” Harry said with a bit more bite than he intended.

 

“Why, yes,” Malfoy said, with some aplomb, “of course.”

 

At that moment Harry wasn't sure what came over him, perhaps it was the insult towards his parents or his miserable morning in potions and Theodore's argument with Milli. But the cure for all his troubles seemed to present itself quite easily and for once without thinking, Harry merely reacted.

 

In a move that surprised Malfoy, considering the aghast look on his face, Harry grabbed Malfoy by the collar and threw him and his poncy, perfectly pressed school robes into the lake.

 

Crabbe and Goyle began howling almost immediately and Harry knew he had made a very dire mistake when the two massive boys then grabbed his arms and hurled him in the lake alongside.

 

“You idiots!” Malfoy shouted, “Get me out first!”

 

This was perhaps not a fantastic calculation on their parts as Malfoy was still sputtering and treading water and they had neither the skill nor the spell work to get him out without outside help.

 

Harry managed to crawl out first, shivering and coughing up seaweed. Malfoy soon followed and then managed to haul off at Harry and break his glasses with a well placed punch. Harry fell backwards into the water and the sludge and furiously threw an enormous, stone filled slab of seaweed right in Malfoy's face. Tragically, they had no idea that Professor McGonagall enjoyed walking along the lake this time of year in the afternoon for exercise and she came upon them trying to strangle each other in the water, dirty, beaten up and probably bleeding.

 

“What is wrong with you two foolish children!” she shrieked, “it's barely above freezing! Get out of there! Up! Up to Madame Pompfrey's, you're going to catch your deaths! Who is that? Potter! Malfoy!”

 

Crabbe and Goyle had probably gone to get help but who knew when they would have returned. It was good luck they hadn't lingered as Harry knew what was coming, the dreaded subtraction.

 

“Twenty points from Slytherin!” she shrieked, “Pull yourselves together, whatever argument you've started isn't worth hypothermia!”

 

The Professor cast a rather prickly warming charm on them both and a drying charm that barely chased the damp from their sodden robes. With their boots squishing they made their way up towards the infirmary in tense silence.

 

“What happened to you!” Theodore exclaimed, popping out from behind a bed curtain.

 

“Oh erhm,” Harry stammered.

 

“Boys!” snapped Madame Pompfrey, “What part of laying quietly for half an hour didn't you comprehend? Those salves won't work on your face if the bones keep moving!”

 

Harry flopped back down on his bed in his dry and warm pajamas and fought to keep his face from twitching.

 

“We'll talk at dinner,” Theodore said.

 

It was the moment when Theodore closed the divider that Harry noticed the sizable bandage on Theodore's hand. Thinking it was awfully strange, Harry considered asking about it when he could speak again.

 

It would have perhaps been in Harry's best interest to have stayed in hospital. When his face was finally healed enough to allow him to eat and after changing into a fresh set of school robes, he arrived in the Great Hall to a rather tense situation.

 

“Over here,” Millicent said, in a funny sounding voice, “they wouldn't let you sit by them anyway.”

 

“Who?” Harry asked.

 

Then he noticed that Theodore, Millicent and himself were just about quarantined from the rest of Slytherin house, since the other members of second year were sitting in a clump studiously ignoring them. Of course, the older years always ignored the younger ones but this time, it was marked. Emmaline was surrounded by Slytherin girls and even Ginny Weasley sat stiffly next to them looking a bit sodden around the eyes.

 

“I don't know why,” Millicent said, her voice trembled, “but they don't like us anymore. Probably because of Snape, the filthy brown nosers.”

 

“What's Snape done?” Harry asked.

 

“That scene in potions!” Millicent said, “He made our friend and thereby us, very unpopular.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, that was nothing new, he'd get over it.

 

There was a marked space between Crabbe and Goyle who were ardently trying to look threateningly in Harry's direction. He knew it wasn't anything serious, Malfoy was probably trying to milk his injuries for all they were worth in the infirmary. He could stay there as long as he liked for all Harry cared.

 

“Right,” Theodore said, sitting down, “what were you doing throwing Malfoy in the lake?”

 

Millicent snapped her head around, “you threw Malfoy in the lake?”

 

“He deserved it,” Harry said.

 

“Wish I could have seen that,” Millicent said, amused.

 

The food appeared and they busied themselves with eating for a few moments, until Theodore with his mouth full mumbled something.

 

“Swallow first,” Harry said, “I can't tell what you're asking.”

 

Theodore took a massive swig of his pumpkin juice, wiped his face with the back of his hand and then began laughing.

 

“I said, that explains it,” Theodore said, “Malfoy was really upset. I heard him whinging in hospital.”

 

“He slagged off my Mum,” Harry snapped, “what did he expect?”

 

“Thought as much,” Theodore said, “Deserved or not, I'd think twice about starting fights with Malfoy. He really holds a grudge and he's got the influence to do something about it.”

 

“Malfoy can take his influence and shove it up his-” Harry began but then he was smacked in the head by a rolled up piece of paper.

 

STUDY GROUP???

 

It said, in swirly, glittery letters.

 

Harry looked over and sure enough, Terry Boot waved emphatically from the Ravenclaw table with a very shaken looking Hermione next to him.

 

“What's wrong with Hermione?” Harry said.

 

“Oh she still feels bad, that's nice of her,” Theodore said, “we went digging outside and that's when my hand nearly got chomped off by a Venemous Tentacula.”

 

“Theodore!” Millicent said, “People die getting bit by those things!”

 

“So that's why you were in the infirmary,” Harry said.

 

“Lucky for me it was only the tiny, winter hardy strain otherwise I might have lost more than my hand. I suppose Miss Granger was working on an extra project and she needed their eyes for potions, anyway, she was quite shocked by all the blood and nearly passed out before we got upstairs. I think Madame Pompfrey made her lie down for almost an hour before she'd let her go.”

 

“That's dreadful,” Harry said.

 

“Probably hurt less than a dragon bite,” Theodore reminded him, “and I wasn't sicking up in the infirmary for hours.”

 

“I think that blonde Hufflepuff has it out for you, Harry,” Millicent said suddenly, “he's been watching you the entire time.”

 

“That's just Cedric,” Harry said, “he's probably still hacked off about Diagon Alley.”

 

Theodore snickered.

 

“Besides,” Harry said, feeling a little bit dangerous, “he'll have to get in line, considering how our year has started.”

 

Millicent snorted, “sometimes I wonder why Theodore's your friend and then I realize you're just as cracked as he is.”

 

That evening in the library however, Harry realized things were never so simple between Slytherins that they could be easily resolved, even in Hogwarts ancient history.

 

That evening as he was heading to study group, he took part in a habit he had developed the previous year while wandering Hogwarts hallowed halls.

 

“Hello there, Mrs. Norris,” Harry said sweetly to the kneazle yowling at him, “I brought you some dried sardines again.”

 

Since Harry wasn't allowed a kneazle due to allergies, he instead had cultivated a kind of truce between himself and Argus Filch who was apparently, quite soft for his cat.

 

“What has Mr. Filch got you doing today,” Harry asked the cat, giving it a rub under its chin, “terrorizing firsties? Nipping at the toes of third years? Tripping up Hufflepuffs on their way to quidditch practice?”

 

Behind him Harry heard the sound of muffled laughter. He snapped his head up and looked around but there was no one there. He made his way carefully to the library, hoping Mrs. Norris was the only errant creature he would find on his way.

 

The tables were mostly empty since it was the start of the year but his table in the center, near the back half hidden by bookshelves was already populated by some of his favourite people.

 

Hermione and Terry were peering at a book that was so enormous it covered both their heads. Theodore was quickly scratching away at their log book and a new girl Harry didn't recognize was sitting next to them. She had a dreamy expression on her face and radish earrings. But most shockingly of all, Draco Malfoy sat next to Theodore and smirked when Harry arrived.

 

“What's he doing here,” Harry said, rudely.

 

“I can still be Theodore's friend,” Malfoy said tartly, “besides if you think I'm giving up after a dip in the lake-”

 

“GIVING UP?” Harry exploded.

 

“Will both of you hush up,” Hermione hissed at them from behind her enormous tome, “I don't want Madame Pince tossing us out right now!”

 

Harry stared at her, “what are you reading? Is that _Hogwarts: A History_?”

 

“Not exactly but close,” Terry said, “Professor Gamp has all the smartest Ravenclaws helping her with her research. That was her house, you know. We're looking at the _Hogwarts Tapestries Catalogue_.”

 

“There must be some load of tapestries, then,” Harry said.

 

“Most of them don't exist anymore,” Theodore said, while writing, “it's a shame. There used to be a big execution scene in Hufflepuff's dormitories of all places.”

 

Hermione stuck her head out from her book, “that same tapestry also had a very beautiful reconciliation story between ghostly lovers, the point of it was to engender tenderness and kindness in Hufflepuff students, not gore for boys to giggle at. Anyway, all the ones that were terribly violent are gone now, moral reasons.”

 

Malfoy suddenly seemed interested.

 

“Does it have the old Slytherin tapestries?” he asked.

 

“A few,” Hermione said, rapidly flipping between pages, “actually the one I'm looking for I can't seem to find.”

 

“Which one?” Malfoy asked.

 

“I didn't know you were interested in art,” Harry said.

 

“Not art precisely,” Malfoy said, in a tone that suggested art was for lesser mortals or Hufflepuffs, “my ancestors funded quite a few tapestries during Hogwarts early years to celebrate important historical events. Armand Malfoy himself had one commissioned for Slytherin common room.”

 

“That's the one I can't find,” Hermione said excitedly, “do you know what it's even called?”

 

Malfoy smirked, “I suppose I could tell you but only if you did something for me in return.”

 

“Not worth it,” Hermione said, primly.

 

Theodore sighed dramatically, “It's called 'We Are All Brothers' and it was commissioned by Armand Malfoy in 1078 right before his disappearance. There's a tiny piece somewhere still at Hogwarts but I don't remember where.”

 

“Theodore!” Malfoy said, in an outraged tone.

 

“It's not like it's any help,” Theodore said, “every head of house in existence has tried to find the whole thing. They think most of it was taken down or replaced by one of Armand's sons because of the objectionable content but there's so little information about it, no one's sure. Anyone who found the rest of that tapestry would be highly celebrated, it's about Salazar Slytherin's brother, after all.”

 

“What sort of content would have been in it?” Terry asked.

 

“It's Slytherin house,” Theodore said, “probably suggested everyone get along and hold hands or something.”

 

“You'd think you didn't like Slytherins at all, the way you go on,” Malfoy said.

 

Theodore scoffed, “even I'm not thick enough to pretend everyone who went through our house is as noble and virtuous as a Hufflepuff. There were a lot of nasty people, a lot of nasty people in Gryffindor too. Those two houses together – they're the ones that have produced the most dark wizards and witches. Everyone looks at us because we live in dungeons and have snakes everywhere but the red tower...”

 

“Oh yeah!” Terry said, cheerily, “I read it got that name because some heads of house really enjoyed executing the children of people they didn't like in the Gryffindor common room in the 13th century! There was a whole wall of tapestries about it in the dormitories well, before that bit Hermione mentioned.”

 

“That's horrible!” Hermione said.

 

“History often is,” Malfoy said, finally enjoying himself now that someone else was disgusted.

 

“I can't even find a description in the annals and they even talk about what was served during ancient Hogwarts feast days,” Hermione said, annoyed, “whoever destroyed that tapestry, really wanted it gone.”

 

“I've never seen it, even when I was stuck under Hogwarts with Neville” Harry said, “if Professor Gamp couldn't find it, it's probably completely done for.”

 

“Well,” Hermione said, “all I know is that her research hinges on it. It's the last part of the book she's writing, without that tapestry, her theories won't stand at all. That's why she's gathered so many Ravenclaws from so many years to help look for it.”

 

“Who is that?” the girl with the radish earrings looked up from her book and peered directly behind Harry.

 

Harry looked behind him and saw nothing but empty air. At least he wasn't the only one who thought he was being followed.

 

“Strange,” Harry muttered, “and who are you?”

 

“Luna,” the girl replied, then went back to reading her book.

 

“People call her ehrm-” Hermione stalled.

 

“Loony Luna, Loopy Luna, Mad Marbles Lost Luna,” Terry supplied.

 

Well, there went his security that he wasn't imagining anything, Harry thought ruefully.

 

“They aren't very nice,” the girl said.

 

Hermione seemed a bit put out by her replies.

 

“She's harmlessly eccentric but they torture her about it. Anyway, I didn't think it was a problem if she came here, it keeps people from stealing her shoes and throwing them places if she's off somewhere else besides the common room.”

 

“Ginny Weasley's friend?” Harry said, recalling a name mentioned.

 

Luna looked up, “that's right.”

 

“Oh good,” Harry said, “think she's having a rough time in Slytherin.”

 

“At least she's making the right sort of friends,” Malfoy said, “I saw her sitting with Blaise earlier and Tracey.”

 

“Blaise is a tit,” Harry snapped, “and Tracey isn't much better.”

 

“Don't let Millicent hear you say that,” Theodore said.

 

“Where is she,” Harry asked.

 

“Practicing for quidditch, she's determined to try out,” Theodore said, “I told her with Flint as Captain she might as well call it quits.”

 

“I could have helped her get on the team,” Draco said.

 

“I bet she told you where to shove it,” Harry said.

 

The silence he received from Draco and his annoyed expression told him it was extremely likely.

 

“I found something!” Terry cried, “Look at this!”

 

“Brilliant!” Hermione said, cheerfully.

 

Laying the enormous book flat, Harry leaned over with his other classmates and looked at the tiny engravining in the bottom left corner. There were only three sentences describing the miniature inscription of a long haired, extremely thin wizard stirring a huge cauldron. It reminded Harry distinctly of Professor Snape, the little figure even had dark hair stitched so haggard and long it covered his face entirely.

 

_Salypso Slytherin was long considered responsible for the theory of cauldron material and ingredient viscosity. This particular engraving shows Salypso Slytherin stirring a concoction in a gigantic cauldron of his own creation. The cauldron, an historical artifact, is now located in the Ministry of Magic._

 

“It's an excerpt from the tapestry,” Hermione said, “I'm sure of it! Where does it say it's located?”

 

“Says right here,” Terry read, “Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Intact. Well, that little picture must still be in there, somewhere.”

 

Harry stared at the picture for a moment.

 

“That's in the corner I read in,” Harry said, “the one with a single lantern. It's huge!”

 

“What?” Hermione said, “why hasn't anyone mentioned it before?”

 

“It's dark in there,” Harry offered, “I could barely tell there was a cauldron, I only remember the hair.”

 

“And who else is daft enough to sit alone in Slytherin Common Room?” Malfoy said.

 

“Oh! That one,” Theodore said, after glancing at the inscription, “The wizard is all bent over and with the old fashioned robe, I thought it was a witch.”

 

“Well, no one really knows anything about Salypso Slytherin anyway,” Hermione said, “Professor Gamp is the first one to write a book about him at all. Every text only has the same three lines about ingredient viscosity and cauldrons.”

 

“Likely he wasn't busy with much,” Malfoy said, “hanging on his richer, more famous brother.”

 

“I doubt that was the case,” Hermione said, “he was a half-blood. They were technically half-brothers, that much is historically known. Perhaps Salazar Slytherin was ashamed, considering.”

 

Malfoy didn't have anything to say to that, Harry thought smugly.

 

“Regardless, we'll have to go see it. So! Which way is Slytherin common room?” Hermione said.

 

“No one gets into the common room but Slytherins,” Theodore said, “sorry about that but I'm sure we can get a picture.”

 

Hermione stared at him, “you mean, no one's been in the Slytherin common room but Slytherins?”

 

“Besides the Headmasters, no other house has been given our password for centuries,” Malfoy said, smugly, “sorry to say that you're little research project is sunk. And if Professor Gamp wanted inside, well, I doubt even Professor Snape would let her and I heard that they were old friends.”

 

“More like old enemies,” Harry muttered.

 

“But that's,” Hermione stamped her foot under the table frustrated, “not fair! We've done all this research! And it's Salazar Slytherin's brother!”

 

“Half-blood brother,” Malfoy said, “and if he's done anything worth noting at all, it wasn't half what Salazar Slytherin already had done by the time he came along. He's only half a wizard after all.”

 

“Malfoy!” Harry said, outraged.

 

“Don't you dare go telling her,” Theodore said, “I know it when you get that look, it's the _sod the rules I'm Harry Potter, son of a murderous auror_ look.”

 

Harry glared at Theodore, “better than another look you get I could mention!”

 

“' _I'm the son of a death eater so I'll threaten Severus Snape_?'” Malfoy said, unhelpfully, “Yes, I suppose one is a little better than the other.”

 

“I'm not your bloody minion, Draco so I don't have to listen to your shite,” Theodore snapped crossly, “Harry, you're not allowed to tell Hermione the password, that's final.”

 

“And who's going to stop me!” Harry shouted, realizing his volume was a bit loud for the library, “you and what army!”

 

“Harry sit down,” Hermione hissed, “and be quiet!”

 

“Fine! I will sit down!” Harry said, feeling his temper flare, “The password is-”

 

But then, Harry suddenly couldn't utter a word.

 

“What did you do to him, Theodore?” Hermione demanded.

 

“Just a silencing hex,” Theodore said.

 

“Wordlessly?” Malfoy asked, impressed.

 

“That's an _illegal_ spell!” a familiar voice shouted.

 

Out of seemingly no where, Cedric Diggory had appeared behind their table.

 

“Who brought him?” Theodore said, aghast.

 

They could hear Madame Pince's shoes clacking quickly along the stones towards them, it was time to enact their escape plan.

 

“Evacuate!” Terry said.

 

Extremely quickly, the five students quickly grabbed as many of their things as they could carry and scattered into the stacks. Hermione and Terry didn't waste any time and physically hauled Luna away, who hadn't bothered to look up from her book. To Cedric's great dismay, Madame Pince only found him standing at the table when she delivered her full wrath. Harry silently sniggered behind a tall stack of books as he watched Cedric receive the lecture of his lifetime.

 

The spell lasted for almost four hours. After it wore off Harry had quite a lot to say to Theodore, mostly with swear words he had learned from Kreacher. At bed check, Professor Snape gave them a lecture about keeping their cubby clean and told them in no uncertain terms if one were messy, both would get detention.

 

This was a death knell for Harry's extra lessons because he knew no matter what, Theodore wouldn't pick up a single thing.

 

“Whatever bee has gotten into Snape's bonnet,” Theodore muttered, “I hope it stings him to death.”

 

“Shut up, Theo,” Harry said, all they needed was for Professor Snape to overhear that.

 

They went to sleep and Harry suffered through dreams about exploding flying cars and Snape looming over him, giving him extra detention for breathing too loud.

 

The morning promised no better. Breakfast at least was uneventful, they sat in their quarantined seats and got along all right and Harry tried to pretend it didn't hurt having his morning greeting ignored by Ginny for Blaise Zabini's, who hadn't known her since she was a baby and surely would be worthless helping her learn her way around Slytherins prickly atmosphere.

 

“Double potions,” Theodore said wretchedly.

 

“No,” Harry muttered, already feeling sleep deprived, “I can't handle Ron this early in the morning.”

 

“What have you got to worry about?” Millicent said in a despairing tone, “Both of you can brew, I might as well hand in my wand after this. Neville Longbottom couldn't stand a cauldron the right way up if it fell on his head.”  


“I don't even know what a Dean Thomas is,” Theodore said, “some Gryffindor twat, no doubt.”

 

“Let's get seated,” Harry said, “last thing we want is to lose points for being late.”

 

The class filed in quite slowly, as though everyone were dreading double potions just as much as Harry and his friends were. When the Gryffindors and Slytherins had been arranging themselves at their stations, Harry heard Neville and Ron discussing something he was dread to overhear.

 

“It's potions,” Ron muttered, “I should be able to do most of it without.”

 

“That wand made the beetles explode during transfiguration,” Neville said, nervously, “maybe ask Harry to stir for you?”

 

Ron wretchedly walked up to Harry and set down his tatty bag and papers next to Harry's clean and tidy ones.

 

“What happened to your wand,” Harry said, in a low voice.

 

“Nothing,” Ron said, “it just stopped working.”

 

“This is potions!” Harry hissed, “Do you know what's going to happen if we budge it up in this class? Go buy another!”

 

“Oh sure,” Ron hissed back, “I'll just owl Mum and get a howler back. She was so hacked off about that flying car, it wasn't even my fault! It was your Dad who did it!”

 

“Then ask my Dad,” Harry said, “he'd get you a new one, no questions asked! Just tell him it was mucked up in the car or something, he'll feel terribly guilty.”

 

“No!” Ron snapped, “Think he's done enough for me already! Mum went mental when she found out he bought and paid for all of this.”

 

Ron made a gesture with his hands that covered his brand new school robe and new books that had already suffered a few ink spills and some singeing, probably from Ron's malfunctioning wand.

 

“What's wrong with your family,” Harry said, “it's just a sodding wand! I don't want to fail potions because you're too thick to get another!”

 

“Piss off,” Ron snapped.

 

It seemed everyone was having as good a time as Harry; Dean Thomas was apparently a skinny, brown skinned Gryffindor boy who had begun slowly inching as far away from Theodore as he could manage, after he caught a glance at the book he was reading. Harry recognized it, the book was all about torture devices wizards had used on muggles back in the medieval era that had fantastic moving pictures filled with violence and gore.

 

“Fine,” Harry said, “but don't do anything. Let me do it all and we might get out of here without anything going wrong.”

 

Millicent had hissed something at Neville that made him go shaky and pale, probably a threat about doing his best -or else. Draco Malfoy was paired up with Parvarti Patil who was at least, as far as Harry knew, competent at potions and not a total disgrace. She was also, in Harry's estimation, very pretty much like her twin sister in Ravenclaw. But she seemed bit snappy towards Malfoy and kept her things quite far from his as though she were suspicious of him stealing her ingredients.

 

“Give me the ingredients,” Ron said, wretchedly, “I have to do something.”

 

“All right,” Harry said, sliding some over, “but don't forget to squeeze the shrivel fig after you cut it. Juice isn't supposed to go in with it.”

 

Ron blinked owlishly at him, “so that's what I've been doing wrong all this time?”

 

Harry sighed, heavily.

 

Professor Snape flapped into the classroom, boots clicking along the stones and his nose held high.

 

“Some of you may think you're clever by being prepared,” Professor Snape began, “but a real brewer knows there's nothing you can do to stop the incidental nature of potion's ingredients. Miss Patil-”

 

She looked up from her ingredient hoard, flushing a little.

 

“If you diced those three ingredients together on the same board, do you know what would happen should the juice mix?” Professor Snape said in a nasty tone.

 

“No, sir,” she said.

 

“A contact poison would be created,” Professor Snape said, “stop hoarding your ingredients girl! No one would want your second rate dicing in their potions if they knew what was good for them.”

 

Patil shuffled and became very firm lipped, as though she were fighting back a retort.

 

“Weasley,” Professor Snape snapped, “Potter. Switch places. Potter always does well in his stirring, he needs more practice with the quality of his ingredients. Weasley, you're pathetic at both. See if you can glean anything at all from your potions partner before the assignment is finished.”

 

Harry looked up, aghast. They were really in trouble now. Millicent fearfully glanced over at them, it seemed Neville had elucidated her on Ron's wand problems. Surely Snape hadn't overheard...or had he?

 

“Yes Professor,” Harry said.

 

Panicking a little bit, he switched places with Ron. On the one hand, he knew at least his shrivel figs would be chopped properly, on the other there was an unpredictable variable in the mix.

 

“Don't stir until you have to,” Harry said, “put it off as long as you can.”

 

“Right,” Ron said.

 

For the moment they worked silently, Ron adding each ingredient when the potion called for it, checking temperature with their magical thermometers and generally doing all right. Until it became time to stir.

 

“All right,” Harry said, “easy does it.”

 

Ron scrunched up his face and attempted to use a simple momentum spell to stir the potion.

 

“ _Momentus_ ,” Ron said, tentatively, his arm stretched out as far from him as he could get.

 

It was then that disaster struck. The entire potions cauldron upended itself, flew into the air and practically blew up. The potion rained down like fire and students in the classroom dove under desks covering themselves with books, papers and anything at all to keep the molten sparks from hitting their heads.

 

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley!” Snape said dangerously.

 

Several dry paper piles on Theodore's desk began smoldering and Dean Thomas helped him put them out with a smothering charm.

 

It was as if Snape had been waiting for them to muck it all up because he was next to Harry in an instant, bearing down on the two of them.

 

“What seems to be the problem,” Professor Snape spat, “can't manage a simple stirring spell? Too idiotic to even consider switching places when someone's wand has gone awry?”

 

“That's not fair!” Millicent said, “If it's anyone's fault it's yours for putting them into that spot in the first place!”

 

Neville was just crawling out from under the desk one over and looked about ready to crawl back under it, along with Millicent, when Professor Snape turned very slowly, very crossly, to face the two of them.

 

“Excuse me,” Professor Snape said, “but I am the potions master at this school.”

 

Millicent attempted to look as big and threatening as she could manage, without being rude.

 

“I said it wasn't fair, sir,” she said, “because Ron's wand is broken. Blame him if you like but Harry didn't do anything. He was doing all right until he-”

 

“Miss Bulstrode,” Snape said, “perhaps your day would be better spent practicing social niceties than spending it out on the quidditch pitch, since I know for a fact that until your potions marks improve Marcus Flint has no use for a girl on the team when she can't even bother to properly respect her Head of House!”

 

Everyone shuffled in their seats uncomfortably. It suddenly came to Harry's attention that Professor Snape wasn't out to get Theodore, he never had been. He was out to get at _him_.

 

Millicent's lip trembled.

 

“Sorry sir,” she said, barely at a whisper.

 

“And as for you two,” Professor Snape said gleefully, “detention tomorrow. For causing a disturbance!”

 

The class was essentially over due the disaster made of everyone's ingredients. Quickly the second years did what they could to clean up before the house elves arrived. Harry felt hot, then cold and then angry all over. He didn't say a word to Ron, Milli or anybody. He just worked until he wasn't seeing red spots in front of his eyes.

 

“Snape was way out of line,” Ron finally said as they were leaving, “what a bastard!”

 

“Shut up,” Harry spat.

 

“You can't defend him this time,” Ron said, “I told you he was rotten! I told you last year!”

 

“I DON'T CARE!” Harry shouted, startling half the students hallway, “GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

 

Harry slammed his books into his rucksack and took off. He was already crying by the time he reached the abandoned girls bathroom. He'd recently discovered it because it was near the dungeons and no one went in there if they could help it. He was free to be as miserable as he liked without anyone finding him, particularly Pucey or the other boy prefects.

 

“I was crying just this morning,” a sulky voice said, as Harry wailed by one of the ornate porcelain sinks.

 

Harry choked out, “Leave me alone, Myrtle. Not in the mood.”

 

“I wasn't either,” Myrtle snapped, “that didn't stop me from being teased!”

 

“Go away!” Harry snapped, then began to cry harder.

 

It was as if once he started he couldn't stop. It was very embarrassing trait, his ears became hotter just thinking about it. Someday he knew he'd slip up, start crying when he wasn't supposed to. Or worse, break down in front of Snape. It was horrible to think about.

 

“Even though you're a boy,” Myrtle sniveled, “you're welcome here any time. People like us, we've got to stick together.”

 

“Like what,” Harry mumbled through his kerchief.

 

When he looked up at the dirty mirror, his face was red, blotchy and distorted. It was perhaps the most accurate mirror in Hogwarts, more than even the mirror of Erised because it mimicked exactly how he felt.

 

“The ones nobody likes,” Myrtle said, her ghostly form invisible in the mirror.

 

It wasn't entirely true, Harry thought as he sat in the Great Hall for lunch. He had lots of people who liked him.

 

“Doing all right?” Millicent asked him.

 

Harry nodded. He wouldn't risk speaking or he might start crying again.

 

“Sod the lot,” Theodore said, “at least Thomas seems competent, though for some reason he kept handing ingredients to me at arms length. You'd think he was nervous.”

 

Harry looked up and his eyes almost crossed, painfully. It seemed that Theodore had charmed his normally black Hogwarts wizard hat violently purple during lunch and had put it on his head, slightly cocked.

 

“What a lovely hat!” Professor Dumbledore said, as he strode by the Slytherin table.

 

“Thank-you, sir!” Theodore said, with gusto.

 

“That looks ridiculous,” Harry said.

 

“Doesn't it?” Theodore said, apparently quite entertained by his silly head wear, “I figure if seeing this doesn't put a damper on Professor Snape's afternoon, nothing will.”

 

“Oh, don't start. Professor Snape is already bad enough,” Millicent said, “wish I knew why so I could avoid asking about quidditch until it's over.”

 

In a low, nasal voice Theodore perfectly mimicked Professor Snape's speaking tone.

 

“ _In Slytherin house we stand for over a thousand years of propriety and tradition_ ” Theodore intoned, “ _to those who are thick, that means no fun allowed!_ ”

 

Harry would have laughed but then, the Professor strode by and plucked the hat from Theodore's head crushing it into a malformed lump in his hand.

 

“That cubby still needs cleaning,” he hissed at Theodore, “perhaps if one has time for silly charms work, one also has time for detention. With Filch after class!”

 

“Was nice while it lasted,” Theodore muttered, as the Professor stormed away.

 

Harry felt worse that Millicent and Theodore were getting picked on because of him but neither of them seemed to notice.

 

“I don't know how much more of his mood I can take,” Harry said.

 

“Doesn't your Dad hate the Professor?” Theodore asked, “I bet if you sent him a letter he'd do something awful.”

 

“Oh right,” Harry said, “and make everything ten times worse. Better to wait it out...”

 

The thought of sending a complaint particularly to Padfoot about Professor Snape sent shivers down his spine, he hardly wanted to be responsible for a duel to the death at Hogwarts.

 

There was at least something Harry could do, as many students filed out of the lunch room to enjoy the fresh air before a massive rainstorm was due to hit the Scottish coast.

 

Harry quickly rushed back to his cubby to pick up a few galleons from the overloaded sack his father stuffed into his pockets every year for the train. Then he ran all the way back to the Hogwarts courtyard and struggled to find in the throngs the person he was looking for.

 

“Cheer up, Neville,” Ron said loudly, “at least she only sent one this time.”

 

Ron, Neville and their friend Dean Thomas were all sitting outdoors on stone benches. There was another boy with them Harry didn't recognize but he was the one who had crowed about Neville's howler at breakfast. He had a freckly cast to his skin and was bouncing a muggle rubber ball with his wand to some first year girl's gleeful delight.

 

“Make it go higher, Seamus!” She squeaked.

 

“She's never been that hacked off before,” Neville said sulkily, “I'm surprised she didn't come here herself to take me home.”

 

“You've got to have fun sometime,” Ron said, “you can't spend your whole life doing whatever she says.”

 

“That's not the point, Ron,” Neville said, sadly, “she cares about me a lot, she wouldn't be half so cross if she didn't.”

 

“Not sure if I'd want that sort of care,” Ron said.

 

“She's still my Gran,” Neville snapped, “even if she's rude to my friends.”

 

“Oi!” Harry shouted.

 

Ron, Neville and their friends turned to look at Harry who had stormed over to them with a few galleons jangling away in his pocket. He'd had it all planned out to be sure Ron got the message.

 

“Fix! Your! Wand!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs.

 

Then he threw the galleons at Ron's head.

 

They bashed into Ron's face, bounced and hit Seamus in the eye and smacked into Neville's left cheek.

 

“Are you okay?” the little girl chirped, Seamus would probably have a shiner after that one.

 

“What is WRONG with you!” Ron howled, clutching his nose.

 

“You're making me fail potions!” Harry shrieked, “How thick are you, really? Want to fail every class because you won't take my Dad's money? Take mine instead and shut up about it!”

 

Ron turned a shocking shade of red while Neville, to Harry's intense surprise, jumped up from his seat and stormed towards him. Neville was much thicker than Harry so he really should have been expecting Neville to use the thickest part of himself to smash Harry in the stomach- his head.

 

They both fell into a heap and Harry scrambled up first, panting, his glasses askew and cracked. The little Gryffindor girl squealed and Seamus shouted and the entire courtyard had turned to watch The Boy Who Lived head butt the famous son of an auror. Some fifth year Slytherins were clapping and laughing at them.

 

“Go get him, Longbottom!” one said, as the others laughed loudly.

 

Harry staggered when Neville hit him, he must have really hit a never because no matter what he said, Neville had never ever hit him probably because he knew he'd get in trouble with his dad.

 

“Potter! Longbottom! What's the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall shouted.

 

If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought she was the one following him through Hogwarts halls, since she had kept popping up whenever he had gotten himself into trouble.

 

“Harry Potter!” Harry heard squeaked excitedly by a tiny first year boy.

 

Then the flash of light went off and nearly blinded him.

 

“Put that away Mr. Creevey!” Professor McGonagall snapped.

 

The little first year scurried over to Ron who was nursing his swollen cheek with a soured expression.

 

“Into my office, now!” Professor McGonagall said.

 

After wiping their knees off they both slunk towards the Professor's office expecting the worst. Once they were seated the Professor glared sternly at both of them over her glasses.

 

“Explain yourselves,” she said.

 

This might have been a mistake because both boys started in rather quickly.

 

“He's the most insensitive person I know-” Neville began.

 

“That's rich coming from you! Ron has been mucking up everything, I'm sure you've noticed! Hard not to! And he mucked up my potions so I told him-”

 

“Just because he's poor doesn't mean he's thick!” Neville howled.

 

“No one asked you!” Harry snapped, “Besides, I'll tell Dad and then you'll really be in for it from your Gran. _Don't put another toe out of line or we'll take you straight home_ -!”

 

“If you weren't so awful maybe you'd have friends and wouldn't have to pick on mine!” Neville said, near tears.

 

“Silence!” Professor McGonagall said, “really, boys. This has gone lone enough! Mr. Longbottom, you're to stay in the office. Mr. Potter, you will come with me to the Headmaster-”

 

“The Headmaster!” Harry said, shocked.

 

He must have really made her cross this time. The Professor however, merely seemed intensely frustrated.

 

“For a clearer perspective,” Professor McGonagall said, “I am hardly the expert on Slytherin house and its myriad of complexities. Wait here, Mr. Longbottom and do try not to fiddle with anything.”

 

Neville bashfully looked down at the floor as Harry was led into the hallway.

 

“I hope you understand that you've caused quite a bit of trouble for yourself already,” Professor McGonagall said, “and quite a few headaches for your parents.”

 

Harry didn't say anything, he still felt vaguely that he'd been hit in the stomach with a bludgeor and not just because Neville had run into him.

 

“Lemon Sherbert,” Professor McGonagall said.

 

The stone entry to the Headmaster's office spun to life and Harry quickly scrambled in. It wasn't long before he arrived at the office, which was empty for the moment besides a pheonix close to its burning day. Harry glanced at all the strange gizmos and devices spinning away on Professor Dumbledore's well worn tables and stuffed bookshelves. He picked up one device that was vibrating rather viciously on a table. He blinked owlishly at the dials as they spiraled down to infinity and the little hands swirled around uselessly. He wondered what in the world something like that could be for...

 

“Ah, there you are,” a familiar voice said.

 

It wasn't the Headmaster but the dusty old voice of the sorting hat.

 

“Hello,” Harry said, approaching the magical object curiously.

 

“It's about time you've shown up on your own, I've been waiting for ages!” the hat exclaimed.

 

“For what?” Harry said.

 

“For the story to be told, of course,” the Hat said cheerily.

 

It suddenly began to sing;

 

_Once Salazar had left the nest,_

_Another snake filled in,_

_His little brother Godric's favorite,_

_The handsome Salypso Slytherin,_

 

_Worth mentioning his skill in potions,_

_His kindness and cunning too,_

_And none who ever met him,_

_Ever wished to run him through,_

 

_For Salypso unlike his ambitious brother,_

_Valued love above all the rest,_

_The half-blood and the muggle,_

_Their origins mattered less,_

 

_Young Salypso Slytherin_

_Was the kindest snake I ever knew,_

_And so secretly I hold his tastes,_

_Alongside Salazar's old brew._

 

_But there are other secrets,_

_That Salypso held until his death,_

_And you remind me Mr. Potter,_

_Of when the little snake drew breath._

 

_For there were other reasons,_

_That in Slytherin a student might be sorted._

_And one of these has much to do,_

_With the one who must be thwarted._

 

“Ehrm,” Harry said, unsure whether to clap or not, “that was very interesting. But what does any of this have to do with a story-”

 

“Ah!” Professor Dumbledore said, “I've been waiting to hear the rest of that song for many years. For some reason, the hat would only sing the first two paragraphs and not the rest. I'm so glad to have heard it in full, you've done me a great service. I should think any detentions you have incured shall be wiped away, it is invaluable research.”

 

“I'm not sure what I've exactly done but erhm- thank-you sir,” Harry said.

 

“Sit down, sit down,” the Professor motioned to a squashy purple chair and set out some tea, “Professor McGonagall has told me that you were experiencing some trouble in the courtyard. Now, you and Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom have never seen eye to eye and fisticuffs during school years are perfectly natural, as much as Madame Pompfrety wishes otherwise.”

 

The Headmaster offered him an encouraging smile over his half-moon spectacles.

 

“But what I would like to know,” the Professor said, “is why normally so quiet a boy who spends most of his time in the library has suddenly taken to tormenting his fellows in ways I have found surprisingly cruel.”

 

Harry blinked back tears, he hadn't thought he'd been that bad.

 

“I just,” Harry stammered, “thought I was solving a problem. The only problem I could solve, really. I'm sorry.”

 

“It's not me who is owed an apology,” the Headmaster said, “but I'm not sure if Mr. Weasley is calm enough to accept it at the moment.”

 

Harry suddenly felt a feeling that was quite unfamiliar around Ron Weasley, he felt a little guilty about what he had done.

 

“I just-” Harry tried.

 

But to his horror the tears reappeared and he found himself sobbing into his tea cup while the Headmaster offered him a kerchief for his nose. Harry told him everything he could, all about Professor Snape and his problems in Slytherin and that no one at all seemed to like him besides his friends, who were paying sorely for remaining in his company.

 

“I should say,” Professor Dumbledore said, “that the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree in your case. Your father, as much as he'd loathe to admit it, experienced almost precisely what you're going through now his early years. I daresay it comes with the territory of being a rather wealthy only child and under quite a lot of pressure. Friends made under duress are often friends for life, you'd do well to remember that.”

 

Harry blew his nose, “I don't understand.”

 

“Most of these things work themselves out with time,” Professor Dumbledore said, wisely, “and I'm quite willing to let them go. You meant well, though you hadn't the skills to execute your kindness in an appropriate fashion. These things are what growing up is all about. However, the matter with Professor Snape is rather personal. I should say, you're receiving the brunt of his ire for entirely unfair reasons. I will speak with him and I will promise that your dealings will not be worsened for it.”

 

“All right,” Harry sniffed, “thank-you Headmaster.”

 

“Now run along,” the Headmaster said, “and I believe your friend would like this back.”

 

The Headmaster handed Harry a rather elaborate looking Hogwarts wizarding hat that was dyed a brilliant, violent shade of purple. It was quite possibly the ugliest thing Harry had ever laid eyes on and he knew Theodore would absolutely love it.

 


	16. Pure Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal is to have chapters on the 15th and 30th of each month. Who knows if that will happen but at least I've got this one out already! Enjoy.

**Pure Blood**

 

Under the lake, past a long line of tapestries was a porthole that led into the Slytherin common room. Miraculously, the inside hadn't seen anyone from a different house in centuries and this had perhaps, helped towards its rather distinct interior. The room was large and stone with a sinister air, some of the chairs were even stone too (they had, to Harry's surprise, rather elaborate cushioning charms put on them so they were much more comfortable than they appeared). The green lanterns hovering from the nooks in the wall cast a sickly, emerald atmosphere across anything pale enough to shimmer in the gloom. There were large tapestries on the walls of various subjects, most about famous wizards and witches from Slytherin house and many more about outwitting poisons and cunningly concocting potions and spells. The tables were overladen with fascinating things like slimy magical creature parts in jars and thick, leather bound books all about potion's theory. It was a very impressive, scholarly sort of room which Harry thought didn't suit the occupants who spent the most time in it.

 

In the back of Slytherin Common room sat a small nook that only boasted a single round table and two chairs. Most often the other chair was empty or occupied by Theodore but today, Harry stood in front of it and regarded his corner carefully. He could see the figure of Salypso Slytherin quite clearly now that he knew what he was looking for. Harry took down a lantern and walked right up to it. He gently touched the hair stitched by strand, the carefully woven cauldron and wondered at all the curious things being put into it. They were individually sewn with all the herbology details intact. They seemed so carefully made that Professor Sprout could have plucked them from the tapestry and had Professor Snape put them in a potion, being none the wiser. Yet, the tapestry suffered from obvious wear around its edges, particularly on the right side that led into a wall. And it was dimmed and dirty for centuries of neglect in the small corner. Harry nudged the edge of the tapestry closest to the wall and it seemed to bulge but remain firmly attached to the stones.

 

“Stuck fast, then?” Theodore asked.

 

Harry startled, “what?”

 

“Oh, you can't fool me,” Theodore said, “you were trying to figure out a way to bring that tapestry up to Ravenclaw tower. Imagine what all the little birdies would think of that?”

 

Sometimes Harry wondered how much Theodore knew about Harry's wish to be in Ravenclaw house instead of Slytherin.

 

“One birdie,” Harry said, “and her name is Hermione Granger. And she saved your hand from being bitten off, or it seems that way to me. So perhaps you ought to be nicer.”

 

“I'm still not going to be the first Slytherin to let her in,” Theodore said, “but she certainly deserves some kind of reward.”

 

Theodore pulled from his inside pocket a small, very moth eaten looking book. It smelled quite off even against Theodore's usually musty aura and was probably the oldest looking book Harry had ever seen outside a museum.

 

“What is that?” Harry said, appalled.

 

“It's a tiny booklet they used to give witches and wizards on tour at Hogwarts. Must be four hundred years old, maybe even older,” Theodore said, “when they'd bring round potential professors or scholars or what have you, they'd hand out these. This one is about the tapestries with funny little drawings. Because it's so old, this one has all the tapestries before the school got to them in the nineteens.”

 

“Brilliant!” Harry said, excited.

 

“But I can only hand it over for delivery if certain conditions are met,” Theodore said, holding the book close, “you can't let her in.”

 

“How would I even do that now that half of Slytherin house thinks I'm one step from betraying the everyone's confidence,” Harry said, tartly.

 

If he could have spared the time early that morning, he would have thrown Draco in the lake as soon as he woke up. As it was, Harry was simply seen as a wild element by the Slytherin prefects that couldn't be trusted - until Draco Malfoy told them otherwise. It was an utterly infuriating situation. Since Draco hadn't won Harry over by being nice, he was now trying to be manipulative instead forcing Harry constantly to seek out his help.

 

“Well, I don't know,” Theodore said, “but you've got some wicked tricks up your sleeve and I'm not willing to take that chance.”

 

“Oh, please,” Harry said, “believe me, if I could turn invisible then maybe you ought to worry.”

 

“None the less,” Theodore said, with a sly grin, “that was a brilliant spider.”

 

Theodore dropped the book and Harry snatched it up. It wasn't like he could get Hermione into the common room anyway, though he would still try if given the opportunity.

 

“You saw that?” Harry said.

 

“I followed you after Milli gave me what for,” Theodore said, “couldn't miss whatever was going to happen. Glad I did, considering.”

 

“I'd be more careful about what you say about Professor Snape,” Harry said, “even if he's being a _you know what_.”

 

Theodore shrugged, “I'll think on it. Time for Defense, wish we didn't have double classes with the fluffy puffs, a Ravenclaw for practice would be a lot better.”

 

Harry sighed. He wasn't sure if anyone would ever get through to Theodore. It was simply risky saying whatever he liked, especially when half the aurors thought he was rotten to the core at twelve.

 

After jostling one another in the halls, Harry's entire second year class finally made its way towards the Western tower and the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Last year the third floor had been off limits but in their current year, the classroom was in its proper place that Harry's parents had so colourfully described when he was younger.

 

When Harry entered the class room he broke out in a grin – almost the entire room from top to bottom was filled with magical creature skeletons. There was even a great, big gigantic dragon skeleton hanging in the middle of the room from wires. Since every professor could decorate their classroom however they chose, the human skeletons were rubbing elbows with life sized drawings of dark witches and wizards, some of which Harry recognized from Professor Binn's dreadful lectures. There was Emeric the Evil and Herpo the Foul and even the lesser known Godelot who had written _Magick Moste Foul_ a very dangerous book only allowed to be taken from the library with a signature from the Headmaster himself. But above them all was a painting of a very grim looking, squat man who resembled a monkey. He was painted large in water colours and hung from a very big scroll next to the Professor’s desk. The swirly letters underneath his feet read _Salazar Slytherin_. Next to him was a drawing of a very handsome, much leaner man who had the name _Salypso Slytherin_ written underneath him. The grim wizard robes and long white beard on Salazar Slytherin was familiar, along with his many jewels and rings around his neck and fingers. But the slim, tidy Salypso Slytherin had only a few rings and a single silver, snake shaped brooch. His robe looked like something an old hag would have worn. It was ragged, green and long stretching past his feet. His hair was long and straight but well combed and the artist had given him a mysterious half smile, as though he had a mischievous secret he couldn't wait to tell. Both drawings were very slightly animated; the more famous brother twisted slightly to regard the students filing in the classroom quite sternly. The younger seemed rather amused by it all and quirked his mouth up even further.

 

“Those are brilliant drawings,” Theodore said.

 

“Technically they're paintings,” Harry said.

 

“Whatever,” Theodore groused.

 

Like most Slytherins, Theodore seemed to enjoy art without knowing anything much about it beyond the most elementary basics.

 

“I read all about them,” Harry said, “Salazar was painted years ago, Salypso is new. I heard the painter did all kinds of readings and tried to get them as accurate as possible and they had help from Professor Gamp.”

 

“Why yes,” a feminine voice said, “that is correct. Slytherin take ten points!”

 

“That won't work,” laughed Professor Gamp, “I have to say it! Take ten points Slytherin! There we are, now Gryffindor will wonder where that came from for ages.”

 

The two boys turned their heads and Harry caught the surprise of his life.

 

“Mum!” Harry said.

 

Next to Professor Gamp's desk and next to Professor Gamp herself, was his Mum dressed up in proper red witch's robes. They were a very nice set, something his Mum only wore occasionally to make an impression.

 

“I knew that had to be Harry the moment I saw him in the book shop,” Professor Gamp said, “he has your eyes. You should stay for a class, I bet Harry wouldn't mind.”

 

_Mum must have been to visit the Wizangamot today_ , thought Harry.

 

His Mum smiled at Harry, though her cheerful expression faltered slightly when she caught sight of Theodore. True to her word, she said nothing about it.

 

“Sorry, Myrto. I'm only stopping by for a moment,” Lily said, “we have a meeting with the Headmaster tonight-”

 

“Oh,” Harry said.

 

“-and Professor Snape. Don't dally after class or you'll be late.”

 

Harry swallowed, he wasn't sure he would like either meeting very much but nodded his head.

 

“Yes, Mum,” Harry said.

 

“I'll leave you to it then, Professor,” Lily said.

 

“Honestly,” Professor Gamp said, “it's Myrto among old friends. Give Severus my love, won't you?”

 

Lily took on a slightly sour look, “I will, though I doubt he'll return it these days.”

 

“Ah,” Professor Gamp said, “Do recall I always thought you could do better than an auror's wife. Research had your name written all over it, I'm sure our mutual friend thought so too.”

 

“I suppose I gave up traveling around the world on a whim for a more settled existence,” Lily said tartly, “enjoy your class Harry and don't forget out meeting this evening.”

 

“I'll remember,” Harry said.

 

“Bye Mrs. Potter!” Theodore said, enthusiastically, “Have a good meeting!”

 

Without missing a beat, Lily turned around and, to Harry's immense shock, smiled warmly right at Theodore.

 

“Thank-you, Theodore,” she said, with a wink, “make sure Harry doesn't get into trouble before this afternoon. I'm counting on it.”

 

The class had begun to fill the classroom as Harry's Mum left through the open doors. Theodore let out a nasally laugh while dragging Harry over to a set of desks.

 

“I like your Mum,” Theodore said, happily, “she's so brave!”

 

Harry's mouth twisted, “what do you mean by that?”

 

“My father tried to murder her in the summer,” Theodore said, “and she was still nice to me.”

 

Harry blankly looked at his friend and wondered what it was like to live in so much denial about one's life. Theodore described murder sometimes as if he were describing the weather. And Harry had thought families like the Malfoy's were bad...

 

“Why did he want to kill her,” Harry said.

 

“Revenge,” Theodore said, “I don't really understand it. Snape did something that hacked Dad off, Mrs. Potter is a friend of his. That's all.”

 

It was still enough to send Harry's mind reeling. He had thought it had been only a happy accident that his Mum was around in the bookshop when Hadrian Nott had been there, too. This was definitely something he'd have to send to his father about, (but he would omit exactly where he had heard it from and suggest a unidentified Slytherin source to keep Theodore out of more trouble).

 

“Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, second years,” Professor Gamp said, “I hope you've all had a wonderful summer and are ready for a fresh new year!”

 

The Slytherin second years shuffled gloomily in their seats, Harry hoped Professor Gamp was used to their usual grouchy demeanor, otherwise she may be in for a surprise.

 

“As most of you have already heard,” Professor Gamp said, “some Ravenclaws have been tasked with independent research projects. If some of you would like one of your own, please come to me after class and I may find something for you to do. If you're terribly angry about my books, please keep the comments to my office hours which are posted on the wall.”

 

With this, Professor Gamp eyed the Slytherin students in a studying way.

 

“Some of you are coming to this class with certain biases,” Professor Gamp said, “and I don't mean the type that plague the wizarding world this very instant. I mean the bias against dark magic.”

 

At that last statement, the traditional, staid Slytherin students suddenly seemed to perk up. Even Pansy lifted her head from her hand and Crabbe straightened up curiously in his seat.

 

“As you can see, we have some very good reasons not to use dark magic hung up on the walls,” Professor Gamp said, “Emeric the Evil is perhaps the most notorious magical mischief maker ever recorded. Salazar Slytherin however-”

 

Most of the class held its breath.

 

“was a much celebrated founder of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Since I know most of you haven't had much luck in the Defense department with the unfortunate Quirrel last year, I hope to improve your working knowledge of historical and practical effects in Defense.”

 

Some loud _oohs_ went around the class room, it was abuzz with excitement. Harry had never seen his Slytherin classmates so cheerful.

 

“That means we will be first looking at ethics, then history and finally, dueling using some benign but under celebrated spells with our Hufflepuff double class. It's surprising what is considered a dark art and what isn't and before you ask, nothing we do here will harm your soul. It will at most, open your mind.”

 

The class broke out into scattered exclamations, it was of course a situation much like someone preaching to their own choir. Most of the students in Slytherin had at least rudimentary knowledge of one dark arts spell, if not several in the case of Malfoy and probably hundreds in Theodore's. Harry would have been surprised if Theodore could last a lumos that wasn't in some way related to dark magic.

 

While Professor Gamp seemed enthusiastic, Harry felt a little uneasy. He had some doubts Headmaster Dumbledore had approved such a class. And Professor Gamp, she was searching the student's faces as though looking for something in their reactions. Something telling...

 

“I would suggest opening your books to pages two hundred and eleven. We will start with one of the four founders of Hogwarts, return backwards to Herpo and then advance all the way to Godelot in a few weeks. Then there will be a short quiz on ethics and then- practicals.”

 

Professor Gamp had said the word with a particular zeal but as Harry glanced up at her face as she walked by his desk, he noticed her sharp gaze was focused towards the back. With Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, Malfoy was flipping pages excitedly as the the Professor strode past him. Her eyes landed longingly on Malfoy's silver brooch and then begrudgingly skittered away. Recalling the incident in Knockturn Alley, Harry glanced up at the gigantic drawing of Salypso Slytherin and to his surprise noticed that the brooch drawn on Salypso's chest and the design on Malfoy's much newer one, were almost exactly the same.

 

After class there was much talk about the Slytherin quidditch team and a number of students, including Theodore and Millicent, were convinced to go out and see what Malfoy had acquired for the team. Usually quite enthusiastic about quiddith, Harry skipped out to go visit Hermione in the library.

 

“This book might help,” Harry said, “I got it from Theodore.”

 

Hermione was immensely pleased.

 

“Oh this is wonderful,” she said, “I can't wait to read it!”

 

Harry told her quickly about his strange Defense Against the Dark Arts Class.

 

“That is certainly quite a bit different from what she said to us,” Hermione said, “but I suppose she's trying to cover all her bases. She's a very famous scholar you know but quite a lot of scandals have followed her. People accusing her of unusual methods. I think she's ever so wonderful-”

 

“Whatever she's up to,” Harry cautioned, “it's serious. She kept staring at Malfoy. And the brooch on his cloak is almost indentical to Salypso Sytherins. I'm not sure what it means but I didn't want to say anything about it to Theodore-”

 

“Best not to,” Hermione said, “I was ehrm, reading something the other day. I just stumbled over it but, there's something fishy about Malfoy's family.”

 

“What is it?” Harry asked.

 

“Well, you know that Hogwarts keeps annals even to this day, and that they're historical and fairly dry accounts of what goes on in the school during its operation? I found some anomalies.”

 

“Go on,” Harry said, perhaps it would explain why Professor Gamp was blackmailing Lucius Malfoy.

 

“I came across this,” Hermoine said, “a series of murders. It all seemed to happen around the same time around 1078 when Armand Malfoy supposedly disappeared. I sort of wondered where he was while Hogwarts was being built- anyway, he had a great many sons from a great many wives and he was getting on, so of course you know what that sort of thing causes. Some members of the Malfoy family got together and tried to have the other group murdered. Eventually there were a lot of very ugly duels that resulted in a great many deaths. The Malfoy family tree was nearly wiped out, it seemed like they were fighting over something but there's no record of what. Finally, someone got what they wanted while someone else in Malfoy's family was expelled, their name entirely written out. Then the tapestry in Hogwarts not a year or two later was partially removed. The annals mention an old alumni, a 'friend of the founders' who came to dinner at one of their feasts on similar days but the name was destroyed. Perhaps Armand Malfoy himself wrote them out to avoid a scandal with the school!”

 

“What could have been on that tapestry that they wanted it gone so badly?” Harry asked.

 

“I'm not sure,” Hermione said, “but I'd bet it had something to do with the feud. I'm not sure who to ask for more details-”

 

“Draco Malfoy, of course,” Harry said, “he loves talking about his family, even when they do awful things.”

 

“Ideally yes,” Hermione said, “but he's likely to become trouble if he doesn't like what we find. That person must have done something very offensive to the rest of the family to be struck off like that.”

 

“How else are we going to get hold of Malfoy family history without an actual Malfoy helping us,” Harry said, “besides, he won't leave off me about all this proper wizardry rubbish and I figure he can be useful for a while and stay out of my hair.”

 

Hermione giggled, “I'm surprised Theodore isn't helping.”

 

Harry regarded her seriously, “I'm not really sure half the time if they're friends or just jammed together and making the best of it. Their fathers don't seem to like each other much and Millicent, Theodore's very best friend, is about as far from a Malfoy as you can get.”

 

“It sounds difficult in Slytherin,” Hermione said.

 

“No worse than Ravenclaw,” Harry said, “have you made new friends this year?”

 

Hermione looked annoyed, “Luna is kind of a friend, of a sort. When I can understand what she's saying. And anyway, at least she's alive. Myrtle was singing your praises the last time I had to dash into her bathroom after potions class. She thinks you're quite something.”

 

Harry's face scrunched up, “ I'm not _friends_ with her, she just hovers there and wails at me!”

 

“Imagine what that's like when you're trying to have a pee,” Hermione said, “I'd avoid that place if I were you, sometimes girls get desperate and run in. Surely there's somewhere else you can make potions.”

 

The entire reason Harry had chosen it was the very idea no one would like to go there and catch him crying into his scarf; he had been forced to make up some story about personal study when Hermione had questioned him. She really was too clever for her own good, Harry would have to hide in a stall next time to avoid getting caught at his real after class activity.

 

“Honestly,” Hermione said, “sometimes I envy that you're in Slytherin. At least it's never boring.”

 

“A little too exciting,” Harry said, thinking back to his conversation with Theodore that morning, “but I suppose it's all right.”

 

Yet, Harry still felt that familiar ache in his chest all the time. He still wished he had been sorted into Ravenclaw and envied Hermione's house, even if she seemed as lonely and miserable in bronze and blue as Harry was in green and silver.

 

Perhaps, Harry thought, a change of house colours wouldn't have been enough to change all that.

 

In the evening after a harrowing herbology class in Greenhouse three (Harry had known all about mandrakes, since they were almost magical creatures but the sounds they made when plucked from the soul were dreadful even with earmuffs) he wasn't quite in the mindset to deal with an equally harrowing conversation with the Headmaster and his mother.

 

After a quick change of clothes Harry scurried all the way from the dungeons to the Headmaster's office. His mother was already waiting for him and together they ascended the stairs after she uttered Cockroach Clusters at the entrance.

 

“I hope this will be settled quickly,” Lily said.

 

“Whatever Professor Snape accuses me of, I didn't mean it,” Harry said.

 

Lily laughed, “I certainly hope not!”

 

She was still wearing her dress robes. It made Harry feel extra shabby in his Hogwarts uniform but he readied himself as best he could by flattening his hair and dusting them of stray dirt from the greenhouse. Much sooner than he'd like they were making their way towards the Headmaster's desk.

 

Professor Snape was already there and he stood formally next to the fire and glared at them both as they entered.

 

“I'm so glad you could come,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, smiling as though the tension in the air didn't exist at all, “especially since the Wizangamot is extremely busy these days.”

 

Lily smiled and nodded, “Thank-you Headmaster, it was a bit of a squeeze but I managed.”

 

“Hawking Potter's ideals at the Wizangamot,” Professor Snape said, “how very beneath your skill level.”

 

“They're my ideals too, Severus,” Lily said, sharply, “in case you've forgotten.”

 

“Please, before the pleasantries have finished, have a seat,” Headmaster Dumbledore said.

 

Harry flopped into the first squashy chair he saw and relaxed into its comfortable embrace, the colour unfortunately still reminding him of Theodore's ridiculous hat. His mother seemed a little too on edge to bother sitting.

 

“Thank-you, Headmaster,” Lily said, “but I believe it would be best for me to stay on my feet.”

 

“I think I'll stand as well,” Professor Snape said, in a very not nice tone.

 

Harry curled into his chair enjoying the warmth of the fire and thought Headmaster Dumbledore really had his work cut out for him this time. A steaming hot tea cup popped into existence on the little table next to Harry's squashy chair and he made his cup purr while rubbing it gently.

 

“Headmaster,” Lily said sweetly, “please explain to me again why a Hogwarts Professor was teaching Harry dark magic, illegal dark magic, according to my husband who is an auror who _certainly_ knows quite a lot about these things.”

 

“Legal is a technically under the protections of an educational institution,” Professor Snape said.

 

“Now, now, Severus,” Headmaster Dumbledore cautioned, “there's no reason to pull out a scouring charm for something a little dusting would do just as fine.”

 

“I'm not talking about education, or dusting,” Lily snapped, “I'm talking about teaching an eleven year old boy how to use viciously directed fear to disable opponents!”

 

“And what does your husband teach his son when he has to learn to defend himself from all the unsavories intent on making quick work of the next Potter in line,” Professor Snape said, “Exploding Snap?”

 

“There's one hell of a difference between _Vespervoltus_ and a shielding charm!” Lily said at a near shout.

 

Harry nearly spat out his tea, he'd never heard his mother speak like that to anybody before. Some biscuits popped into existence on a little plate and Harry nibbled on a few, glad for the sugar to lighten the mood. The Headmaster smiled kindly at him and Harry thought it was probably his doing having the elves bring up something. Harry dunked his shortbread cookies into his orange pekoe and watched the glitter fill the cup. Wizarding biscuits really were the best, Harry thought, the muggle kind just weren't as exciting.

 

Professor Snape's nasty tone shook him from his biscuits, “not as much as he'd like you to think.”

 

“This is a debate best left for another time,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “the matter at hand is whether or not Harry should continue his lessons. I personally, would very much like them to continue under their current sanctions.”

 

“I'm sorry Headmaster,” Lily said, her voice wavering, “I can't agree to it. It's -it's unconscionable to teach a child such wicked things.”

 

“I'd rather teach a more adept student regardless,” Professor Snape snarled, “someone who appreciated what they were learning.”

 

“Who?” Lily demanded, “Like that poor little boy with the awful father? These children count on you Severus and you're returning their trust with-”

 

“Lily, I'm going to politely request that you do not to finish that thought,” the Headmaster implored, “Severus' teaching ability has never been questioned since the moment I hired him. Not by the staff and not by me. His abilities are formidable and absolutely applicable to the unique complexities Slytherin house presents on a daily basis. My absolute faith has always been in his corner, it's unfortunate that his closest friend has doubts.”

 

Lily's expression softened slightly.

 

“That wasn't what I meant,” Lily said, “I'm sorry, Severus.”

 

“Apology not acce-” but a look from the Headmaster made Professor Snape snap his mouth shut and grit his crooked teeth. Harry's Mum looked like she was about ready to cry.

 

It seemed to Harry that the Headmaster wasn't particularly happy about the way things were going either, he kept getting an awfully pained expression on his face. The sort Harry was used to being directed at Theodore by Slytherin prefects when he had done something particularly frustrating, like not clean his cubby for months or leave horned slug parts in the bathroom.

 

“We've done our best,” Severus snapped, “I won't be wasting any more of my time on fool's errands. Let them go.”

 

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh, “if that's what you wish, then I see no reason to keep any of you here.”

 

“Let's go Harry,” Lily said, “I'm sure you have homework to get to.”

 

“If you ever have any problems, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said, “or require anymore books, you're certainly welcome to return to my office any time.”

 

The Headmaster looked at him meaningfully over his spectacles. Harry had almost forgotten entirely about the book with the serpents on the cover. Perhaps Hermione would know a translating spell that would help.

 

“Thank-you sir,” Harry said, “Goodnight, Professors.”

 

“Goodnight, Harry,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “and Lily.”

 

Unsurprisingly, Professor Snape said nothing. But as Harry was leaving the office he looked back for a second and saw a rather miserable expression on the Professor's face. Harry quickly turned his head around, trying desperately to mind his own business but failing. What in the world was going on between his Mum and Professor Snape?

 

That night in the Slytherin dormitory Harry lay in bed, fruitlessly turning over the events of the day. He wished there was some way to get Millicent onto the quidditch team, or a way to help his friend Theodore keep from trouble. Harry puffed air from his mouth and made his fringe flop into his eyes. He'd have to ask his Mum to cut his hair at Christmas, as it was getting long. Harry rolled over and reached into his nightstand for a book to read and pulled out the blank leather one instead. Harry scrunched his face up for a moment but then considered his options this late at night. Under the dim, gloomy glow of a green lantern Harry plucked a ballpoint pen from his pocket his Mum had given to him ages ago.

 

He began to write in the book.

 

_Today's been terrible. Professor Snape is angry with Mum and that means he's always angry with me and my friends. But I shouldn't complain because Theodore Nott has it the worst. His father is sick and there's nothing anyone can do about it because everyone's too afraid to help him._

 

Harry let the book flop onto his chest and sighed at his curtains. It sort of helped but not really because it was only a book and couldn't offer any answers. Flicking his pen, Harry went to write more when he noticed there was a line there in much neater writing that hadn't been there before.

 

_Are you in Slytherin House? I recognized the name Nott._

 

Harry stared hard at the words, he certainly hadn't written them himself. His father had always warned him not to trust anything when you couldn't see its brain but he suddenly couldn't help it, it was like he was drawn to it. Like a long lost friend he had just remembered...

 

Quickly he began to write.

 

_**Yes. Is this your book? Are you Tom Riddle?** _

 

The words swirled faster now and appeared on the page.

 

_I'm very surprised you know my name. What's yours?_

 

Harry grinned, it wasn't every day he found a friend in a book.

 

_**Harry Potter. Second-year Slytherin, at your service.** _

 

He drew a little figure bowing in the margins while giggling quietly.

 

_Ha! That's very clever! You're a good drawer. Sad to say I don't recognize your name at all. How do you know about me?_

 

_**I'm friends with your best mate's son, Theodore Nott. I suppose you didn't have any children before you'd died, there's no Riddle in school right now.** _

 

_You'd suppose correctly._

 

Harry stuck the pen in his mouth and considered.

 

_**Hadrian Nott is very sick and his son is worried about him. I'm not sure what to do but Theodore thinks it's the ring on his finger. Do you know anything about dark magic?** _

 

_That's an odd question for a second-year to ask. Do_ you _know anything about dark magic?_

 

Harry nodded at the book and then remembered to write instead.

 

_**Loads compared to most second-years, I'm sure. I was even chosen for advanced classes in the subject first-year. So, can you help me?** _

 

_Perhaps we can help each other. Unfortunately, I only exist as a book but together we can probably help your friend help himself._

 

_**What do you mean?** _

 

_This book is all about me, my memories. I charmed it when I was a boy._

 

_**That's very clever.** _

 

_It is, isn't it?_

 

Harry snickered, Tom Riddle reminded Harry an awful lot of Theodore.

 

_I can show you things about Hadrian Nott, things his son might not know about him. It might help us give him the information he needs to figure out what to do. But there is one little matter..._

 

_**What's that?** _

 

_I need you to do some things for me, Harry Potter._

 

_**Like what?** _

 

_Small things, things a book can't really do. But don't worry about them, we'll get to them later. For now, I want to show you something._

 

_**Show me?** _

 

_Show you how guilt can destroy a person. And even, their whole family._

 

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when the diary pages flew backwards, further and further until they landed on November 16th, 1945. As if being pulled by a port-key, Harry felt himself tumbling and spinning, down and down until he was in Hogwarts in his pajamas in a very dusty, crumbling abandoned classroom.

 

“Theodore?” Harry said, alarmed, “How did you get here?”

 

But the boy didn't seem to notice him at all. Instead he looked around nervously, his shoulders jutting and his body twitching in an almost rat-like way. It was at that moment Harry realized that it wasn't Theodore at all. He was looking at a much younger, much healthier Hadrian Nott.

 

The door to the classroom slowly opened and the young Hadrian Nott held his wand up in his hand.

 

“Who's there,” he said in a rough voice.

 

“It's only me Haddy,” a Slytherin prefect said.

 

The prefect must have been Tom Riddle, as he had a prefect's badge along with a Head Boy badge on his Hogwarts school robe. He was tall and had dark hair and his face was quite handsome. Harry was startled to realize he had seen that face before only a year ago, in the mirror of Erised.

 

_It felt like a long lost friend, someone to look out for him..._

 

“Tom,” Hadrian said, in a quaking voice.

 

It brought Harry back to the present moment and he quietly listened to their conversation instead.

 

“Has anyone followed you,” Tom asked.

 

“Not this time,” Hadrian said, “I made sure.”

 

“Good,” Tom said.

 

Hadrian Nott seemed to be in a state. He was thin and underfed looking, his Hogwarts robe a bit too big for his tall bony frame. Much like his older self, his body shook as though he were going into a fit. But then, Hadrian laughed instead. It was an ugly broken sound that made Harry shiver to his toes.

 

“I did it,” Hadrian hissed, “it was terrible but-.”

 

A feint sigh came from Tom's lips as he made his way over to Hadrian's side. After putting an encouraging hand on Hadrian's shoulder, it seemed to calm the boy down.

 

“You did what you had to,” Tom assured him, “what would they have done to you? They were planning to murder you in your sleep at Christmas. I've lived in some dreadful places during my life but never like that.”

 

When Tom comforted Hadrian, a strange light glinted from his fingers. Harry recognized the ring on Tom's finger as the same gold ring Hadrian Nott wore on his hand in modern times. Tom clearly suffered no ill effects from its wearing but Hadrian Nott even at sixteen, already had the makings of an unbalanced man.

 

“You're welcome at my home,” Hadrian sputtered, “anytime you like.”

 

“I know, Haddy,” Tom said, “and I'll be taking you up on that offer this summer I suspect, especially since we've done some much needed house cleaning.”

 

Hadrian's mouth twisted, he still seemed guilty over whatever he had done.

 

“Right,” Hadrian said, in his rough hewn voice, “there was no other choice.”

 

“Precisely,” Tom said, “and now there's no one left at all to hurt you or cause you troubles. You can do anything you like.”

 

“Anything at all,” Hadrian said, as though the concept had never dawned on him until that very second, “my experiments-”

 

“They can go on undisturbed,” Tom said, “and with the two of us working together in the summer, who knows what we might find.”

 

“Yes,” Hadrian Nott said, his eyes dancing cruelly, “who knows.”

 

“I should get back to my prefect's duties,” Tom said, “there's a lot to do just before the weekend. We'll talk more then.”

 

“Right,” Hadrian said, thickly.

 

It was quite obvious to Harry that Hadrian didn't want Tom to leave. Despite it, Tom slipped out the door and let it shut.

 

Since Harry was in a corner of the classroom that was quite advantageous, he could see Tom pretending to leave and hiding himself just outside instead. He watched Hadrian remove a kerchief from his pocket and begin violently sobbing into it. The tears lasted quite some time, until Hadrian seemed to pull himself together and Harry watched, frightened, as Hadrian Nott's face became twisted up with rage.

 

“They deserved it,” he spat, “mudblood sympathizers. Vile filth!”

 

Stealthily and more quiet than a mouse, Hadrian Nott slinked past Tom without noticing him and out in the hall. Tom, unlike Harry, seemed relieved. He crept from his hiding place and left the classroom with a notable spring in his step. The vision ended and Harry found himself back in his bed, warm and safe in the Slytherin dungeons with the sounds of Hadrian's ugly sobs echoing in his head.

 

Harry quickly wrote in the diary.

 

**_What was that?_ **

 

_A memory. My poor friends' first attempt at murder._

 

_**Murder?!** _

 

_I don't know if you've ever heard but Hadrian Nott grew up with cruel relatives. They starved him, beat him, played cruel games with his mind. He wasn't right in the head even on his first day at Hogwarts._

 

Harry's hand trembled.

 

_**I had heard something about it but I hadn't known it was that bad.** _

 

_It was horrible and worse. He never told me all the details but I could see them on his face and other places when he changed in our dorms. Of course, I had to help him. He was my only friend in Slytherin house who would ever admit it._

 

_**Muggleborn. Or a Half-blood, like me. I could tell from the diary.** _

 

_Yes. We're not well liked straight away but Hadrian took a shine to me and he was from a respected family who had fallen on hard times. His kindness granted me other friends from illustrious families and we developed a camaraderie from mutual, unlucky circumstances. His parents were dead – so were mine. We helped each other, there was no one else who could._

 

_**Did you help him commit murder?** _

 

_I helped him defend himself. His family was going to have him assassinated, they thought they'd make it look like an accident so they could get the house and all the money. I suppose they grew tired of waiting when their attempts at driving him to suicide failed. I couldn't have that, so I encouraged him to take matters into his own hands. I knew that even if they caught him at it, when the aurors saw the evidence..._

 

Harry found this depressing. If he was so far gone as a boy, what hope did Theodore have of ever changing him when he was so much older? He told Tom as much.

 

_It's very late Harry. Perhaps you should go to bed and think about what I've shown you? I'll still be here in the morning._

 

Harry scrubbed his eyes, he was awfully tired.

 

_**All right. Good night, Tom.** _

 

_Sleep well, Harry._

 

The book fell from his hands and crumpled to the floor. Strangely, Harry found himself dreaming about roaming Hogwarts halls at night in the dark. The oddest thing about it were the sounds of chicken screeching just as he passed a green lit Slytherin lantern in the great hall...

 

It was finally the weekend. Harry woke up late feeling bleary and tired but Theodore was already dragging him out of bed by his foot.

 

“Come on,” Theodore said, “I owe Hagrid and you owe me for that book so we're going to give him a hand with some pumpkins.”

 

“Hagrid?” Harry said, scrambling upright.

 

“I knew the word Hagrid would get you out of bed,” Theodore said, “for the record, I think he's fresh out of dragons.”

 

Harry stepped on a pile of sticky papers with his bare foot and grimaced. He peeled red feathers from the sole of his foot grumpily, it was probably the leftovers of an experiment Theodore had been poking at early this morning. Their cubby really was such a mess, how Theodore could find anything on his side was a mystery.

 

“All right,” Harry grumbled.

 

After dashing to and from the bathroom enough to get ready, Harry and Theodore made their way towards the common room. It was the weekend and while Harry normally wore muggle clothes, instead he grabbed a casual wizard set that he had rummaged from the box Regulus had given him.

 

“I like that better,” Theodore said, “wish it was purple though.”

 

“You'd turn everything violet if you could,” Harry complained.

 

The hideous wizard hat Theodore continually perched on his head when Professor Snape wasn't in reaching distance was enough to put anyone off the colour forever. Fortunately it was currently sitting on his bed, Theodore was wearing ordinary gray robes today and Harry's were emerald green. When they made their way into the common room Harry suddenly felt a little self conscious as he felt the older Slytherin students watching him curiously.

 

“Dressing like a proper wizard now,” one boy whispered, “wonder if it's Malfoy's doing?”

 

“More like Nott,” a girl hissed, “you know what his family is like.”

 

Harry tried to ignore them. He wondered what Ginny was up to, he hadn't seen her for a few days and wondered if maybe she'd like to visit Hagrid too.

 

“Come on,” Theodore said, impatiently dragging Harry along, “your girlfriend isn't around today.”

 

“She's NOT my girlfriend!” Harry shouted, “Why does everyone keep saying that? No one thinks Milli is yours!”

 

“As if anyone would believe that!” Theodore said, turning his sallow skin pinkish, “She'd duel anyone to the death who even thought it.”

 

When they arrived at Hagrid's hut, he answered the door looking rather grumpier than usual. However, when he saw who had arrived, his cheer rapidly improved.

 

“Hullo, Harry! Theodore!” Hagrid boomed, “Come in, have some tea and fudge!”

 

“Thanks! Is anything the matter?” Harry asked.

 

“Oh no, not at all,” Hagrid said, “I thought you were Professor Gamp back for another go.”

 

“What's she up to now,” Theodore said, poking at the odd bits of things hanging on the wall.

 

He was particularly interested in Hagrid's enormous crossbow and twanged the rope on the frame. Harry was just happy to notice it wasn't loaded.

 

“Badgering on about things that ought to be forgotten,” Hagrid said, “it's no one's business but my own. Anyway, she's got 'alf the Ravenclaws digging 'round through Hogwarts records doing 'er dirty work.”

 

“Hermione said she was given a study project,” Harry said, “and the Professor offered the same opportunity to Slytherin.”

 

“I bet she had a real rousing speech about it too,” Hagrid said, “careful what you say around Professor Gamp, 'arry. She's all smoke and mirrors these days, more than she was during school. Snape had quite a few reasons to hex her and it had a lot to do with her claiming she did things she hadn't done herself. She's always stuck like a barnacle to wizards and witches much better off than she was and I'd dare say, you and Hermione would give her a run for it. And Theodore too, of course.”

 

Theodore beamed, pleased at getting noticed. Harry would have thanked Hagrid but his jaw was cemented shut by the treacle fudge.

 

“Having pumpkin troubles?” Theodore asked.

 

“The chickens are worse off,” Hagrid said, “last night they were attacked by a blood-sucking bugbear. I've got to get special permission from Dumbledore to do anythin' about it. I thought it might be pushing it a bit far 'ta bring notice to the er, pumpkin patch I been groomin' for the Halloween feast.”

 

“A little subterfuge never hurt anyone,” Theodore said, smirking.

 

“Best be off before the rain comes, to the pumpkins!” Hagrid boomed, standing up so quick some of his pots and pans hanging on the walls began to rattle.

 

Fang let out some joyous barks, excited to be let outdoors. The three of them made their way to Hagrid's pumpkin patch and observed the enormous pumpkins growing.

 

“These look pretty well to me!” Theodore exclaimed.

 

Harry glanced over at the pink umbrella sitting next to Hagrid's house, it wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine bits of wand buried inside and Hagrid giving them a bit of help.

 

“I thought ye'd like a chance to try out your transfiguration on 'em,” Hagrid said, “and there's a few little ones in the back that could use a bright purple wash.”

 

“Brilliant!” Theodore crowed.

 

Hagrid explained to them both how to gently enlarge pumpkins and turn them different colours. They practiced first on the small, runty pumpkins in the back that grew in funny shapes or weren't suitable for Hogwarts Halloween feast because of brown spots. Harry was glad they had because if you enlarged a pumpkin too fast, it had a tendency to explode rather violently (to Theodore's endless delight).

 

“It's purple!” Theodore crowed excitedly, pointing to a tiny, violet coloured pumpkin.

 

Harry said, “I bet it would look great in the common room.”

 

“We'll carve them when they're ready,” Theodore said, excitedly starting on another, “have a whole miniature purple pumpkin army!”

 

Harry snickered, mostly because he knew purple was Malfoy's least favourite colour.

 

After engorging a few big pumpkins and nearing the last lot, Harry accidentally made a large pumpkin explode by being a little to enthusiastic with his transfiguration.

 

“Ye can run to my hut and give your ears a wash when we're finished,” Hagrid said, “scouring charm won't get all those seeds out between yer hair.”

 

Theodore had dashed off after his last pumpkin so he could meet Terry for lunch and Harry found himself and Hagrid walking towards the hut alone. At the water pump, Harry filled a bowl of water and Hagrid laughed at Fang as he took a few big swigs of it before Harry could managed to use enough to rinse his hair. A drying charm later and he was good as new.

 

“Yer a good boy, Harry,” Hagrid said, giving Harry a pat on the back that sent him stumbling a few steps, “just like yer Mum and Dad.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry said, a little perplexed.

 

“Letting Theo hang about ye, despite what his father's done,” Hagrid gave a mighty sniff, before continuing, “I knew as soon as I saw him in Knockturn Alley, little fellar was in trouble.”

 

“What was Theodore ehrm, doing in Knockturn alley,” Harry asked, nervous about the answer.

 

“Buying ingredients for a calming draught!” Hagrid bellowed, “And that Mulpepper wouldn't let 'im have it without twice the galleons he had on him! Outrageous! I put them right when I saw 'em trying to do that. Poor Theodore was in a state, I think he wasn't sure what he'd do with his Dad so sick. Ye see Harry, his father has a reputation and no shop in Daigon would sell Theodore anything at all that wasn't on his school list. On the one hand, I can't say I blame 'em considering old Nott's history. But on the other, Theo is just a boy! He's not to blame for his father's mistakes.”

 

Harry blinked, “so he wasn't doing anything suspicious there at all then?”

 

“His Dad's in a bad way,” Hagrid said, pained, “and while I won't say it's a tragedy if he should find is way out early, Theo wouldn't have anybody then. And Malfoy is no help at all, who knows where the boy would end up. Why, if I thought I could, I'd hole 'im up in my hut until he left school.”

 

Harry wondered if this had anything to do with Hagrid's fondness for overly dangerous creatures because if Theodore would have been born with extra claws and feathers, he'd certainly qualify.

 

“I'll admit,” Hagrid said, “I've never been too fond of Slytherins. I had what ye'd call a bad experience with the lot. But watching all those people dart around Theodore in Diagon Alley and toss him out on his ear like he was catching when he was only tryin' ter help his sick father-”

 

Hagrid immediately turned moist in the eyes.

 

“It made me reconsider,” Hagrid said, “I wondered how many wizards and witches who had gone bad hadn't had any friends to look out for 'em. And you an' Millicent are a good sort, green scarves or not, trying ter help but ye can't follow him to Knockturn alley at your age. Why, without the two of you, who knows what he'd end up doing before graduation.”

 

Harry had some idea after talking to Tom Riddle in the diary but he held his tongue. The brisk Fall breeze and the turning leaves were wonderful but the air had an electricity about it. When Harry walked towards Hogwarts for lunch, the weather changed and the clouds grew dark as if they were on the edge of a storm.

 

True to Harry's prediction, the next few days the weather had taken a turn for the worse and wouldn't let up. Rain pelted Hogwarts and turned the courtyard into a mucky, disgusting wet mess. Students kept dodging Filch in the hallways because their boots and cloaks left trails behind them, even if they only went out for a moment. It was very satisfying to see Neville hobbling in after early morning quidditch and get dragged off for detention.

 

“Oh, Neville you devil-!” Peeves, the Hogwarts poltergeist, began to sing a song he enjoyed imparting whenever Neville got a new detention but he suddenly stopped once he saw Harry.

 

To Harry's great discomfort, Peeves dipped low and gave Harry a rather thorough once over. His ugly grin and orange polka-dotted jumpsuit shimmered warningly.

 

“No fun,” Peeves muttered, and then began to shout, “no fun! Not a bit of it allowed at all! Not with you around!”

 

The Blood Baron suddenly appeared from the lower stone wall, causing Peeves to shriek loudly and spin away.

 

“Never mind him, Potter,” he said grimly, while his chains rattled.

 

“Thanks, sir,” Harry said, feeling chilled by the ghostly presence, “I'll just erhm, be off now.”

 

Harry didn't wait for a reply and quickly jogged towards the Great Hall for breakfast rubbing his hands along his arms for warmth. While fascinating, ghosts couldn't help being cold and spooky, by their very nature.

 

During herbology in the greenhouse and while battling to put another batch of young mandrakes into their pots, Hermione motioned for Harry to meet her outside the classroom when they were done. After the ugly plant babies were stuffed under enough earth to keep them from knocking anybody out, Harry managed to creep away from Terry and Theodore and wander outside. Hermione and Harry crept under an awning to stay mostly dry and hoped no one else would bother to come outdoors in the miserable weather looking for them. The smell of manure and soil was strongest by the greenhouses and most people kept a wide berth even during nice days, it wasn't much different when it rained.

 

“Remember when I mentioned that there was something strange about Malfoy's family?” Hermione said, “I think I've found something in that old book of Theodore's.”

 

“Really?” Harry said, excited.

 

“The brooch is only the beginning,” Hermione said, removing the little book from her inside pocket, “this is much stranger.”

 

Harry looked at the little book and noticed it was a rather rough drawn outline of the tapestry in the Slytherin common room by Harry's cubby.

 

_We Are All Brothers_

 

_Armand Malfoy and Salypso Slytherin_

 

The part of the tapestry that was no longer on the wall showed a strangely dressed wizard juggling potions ingredients above a gathering of children. He looked more like a jester than a wizard, even his shoes were pointy. And his hat was so ridiculous, being tall and pointed with feathers jutting from it, even Theodore would have approved.

 

“And then this,” Hermione said.

 

She flipped to a page in the book that looked purposefully torn out.

 

“Someone even scratched out the plate name with a quill,” Hermione said, “I cleaned it up as best I could and cast all sorts of spells on it but all I can make out are a few letters.”

 

“M,” Harry read, “A, N, E, A, R. Manear? That doesn't sound like anything at all.”

 

“There are letters missing. Even with them, I'm not sure I'd know what it means,” Hermione said, “But the other tapestry I think, so far as I can tell, has muggle children on it and both wizards are healing them or helping them somehow. The page missing might be even more incriminating.”

 

“It is an odd subject,” Harry said, “but the tapestry we know about isn't really, ehrm, scandalous. Even in Slytherin house it might at worst be seen as disagreeable. Actually on the other wall by the leather settee there's a tapestry Malfoy loves to sit under and it's all about how some old, wealthy pure blood wizard gave a muggle peasant girl a kneazle in the sixteenth century, out of the goodness of his heart or some such rubbish.”

 

It was with some annoyance that no one seemed to realize or care what that tapestry was about because it had a beautiful field of flowers peppered with twirling, writhing animated snakes. They were rather out of place considering the subject but that was the bit everyone went mental over and the part Malfoy particularly liked to look at, while lounging and bragging about this or that thing his father had bought him.

 

“I think the fact that it's a Malfoy on that tapestry might mean something,” Hermione said, “they weren't the most tolerant bunch, maybe the family was ashamed of Armand.”

 

“But if so, why wasn't he the one written out?” Harry reasonable asked.

 

“That's what's bothering me,” Hermione said, “I'm not even sure that is Armand Malfoy on that tapestry, he lived almost a thousand years ago. We only have this little book telling us the name stitched onto the bottom and not the real thing. And that missing page with the letters rubbed out...”

 

“It's a puzzle,” Harry admitted and he suddenly, desperately wanted to see it solved.

 

“With very important pieces missing,” Hermione said, “I'm suspecting only one person has all the answers.”

 

She motioned meaningfully towards the Herbology classroom, she was probably right, Draco Malfoy probably knew more about it than anyone else. Harry just wasn't sure how to go about asking.

 

“Oi!” Theodore's voice broke their thoughts, “Come on, you lot. To the quidditch pitch!”

 

“What's he so excited about,” Hermione asked, crossly.

 

“New brooms,” Harry said, “I suppose Malfoy's father got tired of hearing him whinge about Slytherin loosing.”

 

“What does that have to do with Malfoy's Dad?” Hermione asked.

 

“You'll see,” Harry said.

 

The four made their way onto the quidditch pitch just as the Slytherin team was crossing the courtyard.

 

“Are those what I think they are?” Hermione said with a squeak.

“Brand new Nimbus 2001s'” Harry said.

 

“A gift from Draco's father,” Theodore said, sniggering, “imagine how hacked off Malfoy was at Neville's winning streak to get his Dad to do that.”

 

“I think they're brilliant,” Terry said, “he's got the right idea to win, Ravenclaw could use a push in that direction.”

 

“You mean Malfoy as a seeker? I might not know much about quidditch but I can tell he's rubbish compared to Neville,” Hermione said, crossly, “at least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in.”

 

The relationship between Hermione and Malfoy was still a bit rocky, Harry was sure they only managed not to hex each other during study group because they both feared being banned permanently from the library.

 

“My Dad is the one who taught Neville, it's not talent at all” said Harry, “ besides, I'd be on the Slytherin team too, if it weren't for my cough-”

 

“You mean that dreadful rattling sound I hear every night?” Theodore said.

 

“It's only a cold!” Harry snapped.

 

Maybe his chest had begun aching a little more since being out in the cold with Hagrid's pumpkins but it wasn't anything to worry about, or so he thought.

 

“Is it really that bad?” Hermione asked,

 

“Dreadful,” Theodore said, “I saw him stumbling from the loo in the middle of the night one night, gasping for breath while covered in feathers!”

 

“Feathers!” Terry said, sniggering.

 

“Perhaps you should see Madame Pompfrey. She's been handing out pepper up potion to all the first years and-,” Hermione said.

 

“First years!” Terry began laughing even harder.

 

“Shut up, Terry!” Harry shouted, “the feathers weren't even mine, they were Theodore's fault! I stepped on the sodding things in the morning, they were stuck to my feet!”

 

“Look!” Theodore cried, excitedly, “It's Weasley and his friends! Want to throw some more galleons at his face?”

 

Harry turned beet red while Hermione made a scandalized noise.

 

“You didn't!” she said, then gaped open mouthed at him, “You did! Harry, that's horrifically rude! It's not his fault he hasn't got as much money as your family.”

 

“He still hasn't fixed his wand,” Harry groused, “I was trying to help! I even suggested he write to Dad but he wouldn't. That seems downright mental to me.”

 

“Mr. Potter would fix things properly,” Terry said, “he's a famous auror.”

 

“So everyone keeps reminding me,” said Harry, sharply.

 

“Yeah,” Theodore said, “I'm awfully sick of hearing about it too.”

 

“No one's going to arrest you unless you actually do something wrong,” Hermione said, a bit emphatically, as though hoping it would sink into Theodore's head.

 

Harry knew better, Theodore did plenty wrong each and every day. He was just very good at not getting caught.

 

“Hermione!” Neville waved enthusiastically at her and then slowly dropped his hand when he saw who she was with.

 

Neville was back in his quidditch gear from the morning, it was still a bit mud splattered and dirty Harry noted with some distaste.

 

“Let's say hello,” Hermione said, staring at Harry.

 

“I'm not apologizing,” Harry grumbled.

 

“Yes you are,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, she grabbed Harry's arm and began hauling him over towards Ron and Neville.

 

Theodore and Terry had no choice but to follow them.

 

“Hello,” Hermione said brightly, “are you watching the Slytherin try outs?”

 

“More like the Slytherin brooms!” Ron said, flustered.

 

“Bet they'd make mince meat out of Gryffindor,” Theodore said, smirking, “better hand in your Cleansweep five's. Or were they firebolts? Maybe Gryffindor could raffle a few and buy a few brooms, I'm sure a museum would bid for them.”

 

Ron jumped up from his seat but Neville pulled him back down.

 

“Don't,” Neville said, firmly, “he's just trying to rile you up.”

 

“Theodore,” Hermione hissed, “you are not helping! Anyway, Harry has something he'd like to say to you. Both of you.”

 

Harry looked at Hermione as if she'd grown a set of horns to go with her bushy hair and buck teeth.

 

“Are you mental?” he squeaked.

 

“Go on,” Hermione said, “then we can all start with a fresh slate and be friends again.”

 

Harry huffed, he glanced at Theodore who was covering his mouth with his hand to hide his giggles. Terry was also waiting for an imminent disaster and looked quite ready to bolt at any minute, which made Harry quite determined to show he could be the better man and rise above it all.

 

“I'm sorry I threw galleons at your face,” Harry said stiffly.

 

“Right,” Ron said, “apology not acce-”

 

Neville elbowed Ron, hard. With all his quidditch gear on, Ron certainly felt it. It seemed Hermione and Neville were both determined to set things right.

 

“Apology accepted, I mean,” Ron said, bitterly.

 

“Then we'll shake on it,” Harry said, extending his hand.

 

It was a proper thing for wizards to do, Ron twisted up his face a bit but extended his hand. Harry grabbed it and was dismayed to find it was slightly dirty, probably from riding around on Neville's broom earlier in the day.

 

“Eugh!” Harry said, snapping his hand back, “Haven't you ever heard of a scouring charm?”

 

“That's it!” Ron shouted, jumping up, “I've had it! Everything out of his mouth is rubbish and I'm tired listening to it! Apology not accepted, now go away!”

 

“Ron!” Hermione said, she hadn't counted on Ron being the unreasonable one in her little scheme.

 

Harry felt a bit satisfied, this would certainly keep Hermione from trying to smooth things over again.

 

“Sure,” Harry spat, “whatever you'd like. Good luck beating Slytherin. Oh, but wait! Ron can't even beg my Dad to buy a new wand when his is obviously broken, I doubt you'd have the brains to get him a new broom either. Maybe you were hoping I'd throw another set of galleons at his head for good measure!”  


“Harry!” Neville said, his face turned a dark red, “That's too far!”

 

“You know what's too far,” Harry said, his temper rising, “having to listen the two of you stumble through potions and budge up all of the Slytherins hard work!”

 

“At least Longbottom has an excuse, he's rubbish at everything,” Harry heard a very familiar, and very unwelcome voice say.

 

Draco sauntered over to their group with his new Nimbus two thousand and well oiled quidditch gear. He glanced at Ron, looking him up and down and obviously finding him lacking.

 

“Not a thing you can do about him, Potter,” Draco said, “all the robes in the world won't solve bad breeding-”

 

“You're one to talk!” Neville said, “All your cousins' cousins marrying for fifty generations, Malfoy's lucky he doesn't have three heads!”

 

Loud laughter broke out amongst the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team, who were finally coming out onto the pitch. Hermione looked too horrified at everyone's beastly behavior to scold them. Theodore strode up next to Draco and draped his arm over his shoulder as if they were the best of friends. Harry immediately wished he were anywhere but on the quidditch pitch at that moment, he knew something dreadful was coming when Theodore smirked like that.

 

“Not sure why anyone would be proud they're a mudblood,” Theodore said, “they're only good for target practice.”

 

The Slytherin quidditch team had apparently landed just in time to hear Theodore's words and it was a good thing too, because the Gryffindors exploded. They went wild, Oliver Wood had to be physically restrained from clobbering Malfoy and Theodore right where they stood.

 

“THEODORE!” Hermione's shout silenced everyone, “Aren't you forgetting something important?”

 

She stormed up to Theodore and glared at him nose to nose. He looked at her genuinely perplexed. She stared back at him, her bottom lip trembling.

 

“No?” he said, confused.

 

“I'm a mudblood,” she said, “and if that's what you think of me, then-then I don't know what to say to you! But people who hate mudbloods generally don't save their lives sticking their hands into venomous tentaculas! Or spend time helping them in study groups! Or find them rare books to help their research!”

 

“Not bloody everything I say is about _you!_ ” Theodore snapped.

 

Hermione's face crumpled and she fled in tears.

 

“Eat slugs, Nott!” Harry heard Ron shout.

 

“Look out!” Harry said.

 

Due to his father's teaching, Harry quickly threw up a shielding spell but Ron's wand seemed to have other ideas. The shield spell exploded into bright sparks, the spell bounced backwards and Ron, suddenly vanished.

 

“What did you DO TO HIM!” Neville howled.

 

But when the bright spots faded from Harry's eyes, he realized that wasn't entirely the truth.

 

“Ron?” Harry said, jaw agape.

 

Neville followed his gaze and looked down at his feet. He let out a horrified shout. There was a spider the size of a beach ball where Ron had been standing and it was a startling ginger red colour. The spider looked grumpy at first, then rather quickly its legs began to quiver. It did the strangest thing Harry had ever seen; Ron's six eyes swiveled up and noticed his long, hairy legs. Terrified by his own magical form, Ron-spider quickly scrambled up the person closest to him. Unfortunately, it happened to be a shouting Neville who fell to the ground terrified, trying to get Ron out of his hair.

 

This was naturally the funniest thing the Slytherin team had ever seen and they were nearly doubled over with laughter. Harry couldn't help it, he began laughing too.

 

“That's the most idiot-” Theodore said, gasping, “who turns themselves into the thing they're terrified of!”

 

Unfortunately, the fun was soon over. Madame Hooch burst from the school, her wand waving and face slightly flushed. Her sharp yellow eyes raked over the interlopers and she began snapping out their names.

 

“Flint!” she shouted, “fifteen points from Slytherin for rabble rousing! Mr. Wood! For someone who values team efforts you're certainly putting on a poor show! Minus twenty, I expected better!”

 

The quidditch players quickly began to scatter, each one hoping that Madame Hooch would overlook them. Draco Malfoy slipped into the crowd, smirking at his getaway.

 

“Mr. Potter!” Madame Hooch shouted, just as Harry was about to make his own escape, “what in the devil happened here?”

 

Flustered and irritated, Madame Hooch reviewed the sniffing Neville while he clutched the hairy red spider to his chest (Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable, as though he were being squashed) and took one look at Harry and Theodore and came to a quick conclusion.

 

“Where are the prefects? Someone take them to Professor McGonagall's office right this instant!” she said, “Severus will have to sort you out with her, I've got the rest of his nonsense to clear up. And just look at the pitch!”

 

The fisticuffs had torn up the ground rather badly, the grass was in poor shape and the lower stands looked a bit singed from Ron's ricocheted hex.

 

“I'll take them!” Percy said, waving his arm enthusiastically.

 

“When did he show up?” Theodore groused.

 

“Just in time to get Slytherin into trouble,” Harry said.

 

Glum and miserable, three students and an unfortunate looking spider were marched by a Gryffindor prefect towards the Professor's tower office.

 

“You've really done it this time,” Percy said in a superior tone, “I've been suggesting a crackdown against Slytherin house for ages. Perhaps this time, my pleas will be heard.”

 

“Your sister's in Slytherin,” Harry reminded him.

 

Percy flushed, he had likely tried to forget all about _that_.

 

“Yes, well,” Percy snapped, “she's not one of the _nasty_ ones! Just because you're Harry Potter son of an auror, doesn't mean you're above the rules.”

 

Looking quite full of himself and bursting with inflated importance, Percy knocked on Professor McGonagall's door. Neville sniffed wretchedly, while Ron-spider writhed uncomfortably in his arms.

 

After a moment, Professor Gamp poked her head from behind the door and took in the small gathering outside the office.

 

“Hello there, Mr. Weasley,” Professor Gamp said.

 

“What is it?” Professor McGonagall called out.

 

“Trouble makers,” Professor Gamp said, “I suspect.”

 

She winked at Harry, who felt a little bit annoyed at her presumptions. Professor Gamp led them all inside. Professor McGonagall's face fell as soon as she saw the three boys. Her eyes however widened significantly when they fell on the squirming spider Neville was valiantly trying to hold onto.

 

“Is that – _Ronald Weasley?_ Good grief,” she said, “come in, come in! Percy, help explain the situation, then you may go.”

 

Professor Gamp leaned up against Professor McGonagall's desk. She had a superior expression on her face, something Harry recalled Malfoy wearing when he thought he had one over someone. Whatever she was so happy about was a mystery to Harry.

 

“Yes Professor,” Percy said.

 

“I would like to defer to your expertise in appropriate punishments for second-years,” Professor Gamp said, “would you mind if I stayed?”

 

“Be my guest,” Professor McGonagall said tartly.

 

“Does Weasley know his prefect badge says pinhead?” Theodore whispered to Harry.

 

“No,” Harry said, “and I doubt anyone in Gryffindor will tell him.”

 

“I suppose Fred and George are good for something,” Theodore said, sniggering.

 

“Explain this,” Professor McGonagall said, looking directly at Percy, “nonsense.”

 

“I saw it all, Professor,” Percy said, “Theodore Nott and Harry Potter made a dispersion against people who are muggle born.”

 

“I did not!” Harry shouted, “That was Theo and Malfoy!”

 

“Hush,” Professor McGonagall said, “arguments after or we'll be here until Christmas.”

 

Professor Gamp put her hand over her mouth to try and keep her giggle from being heard but it didn't work. Professor McGonagall gave her a rather sharp glance.

 

“The Gryffindor quidditch team charged in after the little Ravenclaw-” Percy said, hesitating.

 

“Hermione Granger,” Neville said, wretchedly.

 

“Yes. That's the one. Then she ran off, she was quite upset,” Percy continued, “and that's when Ron tried to hex Potter and Theodore. Potter of course, must have thrown a counter-hex and turned Ron into a spider.”

 

“Liar!” Harry shouted, “He did it to himself! And Malfoy was there, too!”

 

“Quiet down, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said sternly, “thank-you Percy you may go now.”

 

Percy nodded, a little dismayed he had been dismissed so quickly. He left the room promptly, leaving the three boys and a very harangued looking spider behind.

 

“Would you mind putting Mr. Weasley on my desk Neville,” Professor McGonagall said.

 

Ron was perched on the desk, he shook himself off, obviously grateful to be let go for a while. The Professor cast a few spells on Ron and her brow furrowed. She glanced at Harry and then at Theodore and scowled at the spider. Ron looked a bit nervous and teetered backwards on his eight legs a few steps.

 

“I'm not sure there's a student at Hogwarts who can cast a spell that complex,” Professor McGonagall said, “Severus will be here any moment, he can offer a second opinion. Professor Gamp, if you wouldn't mind?”

 

“Transfiguration isn't my specialty,” Professor Gamp admitted, “But I'll have a go.”

 

The Professor cast a few spells and her thin eyebrows rose.

 

“I see,” she said, a great big smile appearing on her face.

 

She looked past Harry directly at Theodore, who was beginning to twitch nervously.

 

“So,” Harry said, “you don't believe I cast it?”

 

Professor McGonagall gave him a rather dry smile, “it isn't a matter of belief Mr. Potter, the evidence simply isn't there. No student at Hogwarts would have been capable, let alone second-years.”

 

Theodore looked a little bit relieved at the news. He had certainly been next on her list of suspects but he was momentarily cleared.

 

Whatever relief they both felt quickly evaporated when Professor Snape finally arrived in the office, already sporting a frayed temper.

 

“And to what disaster to I owe a house elf disturbing me during a delicate brewing,” Professor Snape snarled, “surely, nothing a little discipline can't fix.”

 

Professor Gamp cleared her throat and rose her brows meaningfully at Professor Snape, who returned her attentions with an icy glare.

 

“Absolutely not,” Professor McGonagall said, then she pointed at Ron on her desk,“this is a matter that is more serious than anything to do with potions.”

 

At first the Professor only saw three sheepish boys but then his gaze raked over the desk and then he froze. Professor Snape stared at the spider for a few, long, agonizing minutes.

 

“Is that who I think it is,” he said, in a very flat tone.

 

“Oh yes,” Professor Mcgonagall said, “and from all accounts, the boy managed to do it to himself - with a malfunctioning wand.”

 

“No malfunctioning wand could have ever hoped to cast a spell that complex-” Professor Snape stopped himself and his head, slowly, swiveled towards Harry who felt about an inch tall under such a scrutinizing look.

 

“He didn't do it,” Theodore tried, desperately, “it really was just as he said. He threw up a shielding spell and then it bounced back-”

 

Professor Gamp suddenly became very interested in the conversation and leaned forward, her eyes sweeping over Harry curiously when previously all interest had fallen on Theodore.

 

“Enough!” Professor Snape said, “When I want a twelve year old's opinion on complex magical theory, I'll ask for it.”

 

Theodore snapped his jaw shut.

 

“I think we'll have to agree to disagree on the matter,” Professor Gamp said, quietly, “I suppose if a student received extra lessons on obscure magical capabilities one might be able to cast such a spell, with none the wiser.”

 

Professor Snape snapped his attention towards Professor Gamp. He looked quite put out, as though he had been caught with his hand half in a cookie jar. Professor Gamp however, was quite the cat with a canary.

 

“Oh please, Myrto. No child on earth could do that lessons or not!” Professor McGonagall said, “None the less, it's clear that until I can contact a professional in self modified transfiguration, he'll need looking after.”

 

The Professor transfigured a sheet of parchment into a plush, red tartan pillow and plunked Ron onto it.

 

“Mr. Potter will have to look after him for the time being,” Professor McGonagall said.

 

“Me!” Harry shouted at the same time Neville exclaimed “Not him!”

 

“Hush,” Professor McGonagall said, “while your loyalty to Mr. Weasley is unquestionable, Mr. Longbottom, that incident with the toad has left me no choice. You're no expert on animal husbandry, whereas Harry here has a great deal of literature and practical experience and a relative he can contact should any problems arise. Thankfully, Mr. Weasley seems to be as any other animagus. Though trapped in the body of an acromantula he is at heart, still a human boy. He can read, probably do homework with some assistance. He needn't fall behind.”

 

Ron-spider seemed particularly glum about that, he tucked his legs under himself and appeared the grouchiest Harry had ever seen anything with eight legs and six eyes attempt.

 

“Ron also has a sister in Slytherin and can return to his common room in the evening via Percy or another prefect. At night however, he'll room in the Slytherin dorms in a suitable enclosure,” Professor McGonagall said, “Mr. Potter is also not the squeamish sort and one has to be sure, considering what acromantulas eat.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, “they're live feeders, mostly small mammals.”

 

Neville made a noise that sounded like a terrified squeak and Ron-spider jumped up from his pillow, six eyes wide and pincers gaping.

 

“I should think that Ron is the first Gryffindor, or anyone of any other house to be allowed in Slytherin in an age,” Professor Gamp said, smirking.

 

Professor Snape had a sour expression on his face, “the Slytherin password will be changed once his situation is rectified.”

 

“Of course,” Professor McGonagall said, “and really, it's not as if an acromantula will break the long standing Slytherin tradition. I'll be sure to alert his family that it's only a temporary consideration-”

 

“He'll change back then?” Neville said.

 

“I suspect, Mr. Longbottom, after some commiseration with other experts to be sure that Ron will be able to change back on his own. How long it takes him however, may be up to debate. For all intents and purposes, he's an animagus trapped in his magical form and that is highly unpredictable. We'll know more when the expert from St Mungo's can give us a better appraisal.”

 

Theodore prodded Ron-spider who snapped at him threateningly.

 

“Wicked,” he said, awed, “imagine if that spell had hit me!”

 

“Be glad it didn't,” Harry said, “or you'd be eating live voles for supper for who knows how long.”

 

Ron-spider made a loud chirp that sounded to Harry like a complaint.

 

“It can't be helped,” Neville said comfortingly, “besides, you'll get to see the Slytherin Common room and that's not something most people can say.”

 

Ron-spider didn't appear to be overjoyed at the news.

 

Harry and Ron-spider viewed each other with some trepidation. But in the end, Harry picked up Ron-spider and the pillow and sighed. It was the worst way to get a pet Harry could have ever imagined but at least he had one.

 

A real, live magical creature under his care.    


	17. The Missing Student

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. This took me absolutely forever and I'm sorry for that but at least it's one monster sized chapter! If there are any typos, I'll eventually get to them. For now, I hope you enjoy a very exciting chapter and I can't wait to hear what you think about how second year is going...enjoy!

**The Missing Student**

 

In the Slytherin common room, three second-year Slytherins and a rather put out Gryffindor gathered around a small booklet on the care and feeding of giant spiders.

 

“I can't believe there are books about this sort of thing,” Millicent said, “who would be mad enough to enjoy raising giant spiders? Is that drawing of a spider eating a man?”

 

“The really big ones eat small horses,” Harry said.

 

“Wicked,” Theodore said, impressed, “do you think Ron will get that big?”

 

“He's not an actual acromantula,” Harry reminded him, “and hopefully he turns back before anyone has to worry about horses.”

 

Looking after an acromantula was much less fun than it sounded. For one, acromantulas had originally been bred as fierce guardians for hordes of treasure by wizards during the dark ages. Young acromantulas however, were often allowed to roam freely in woods and glens while they grew up and required a lot of help outside their specific habitat.

 

“It says here that small acromantula need regular combing,” Harry said, “I suppose that's why Uncle Peter sent a fine toothed comb. Along with a safety collar that can be accio'd-”

 

Millicent let out a loud, amused snort.

 

“And a blanket that has a self warming charm on it,” Harry finished.

 

When Harry peered over his book he saw the grumpiest acromantula that had ever graced Hogwarts grounds sitting stubbornly on a stack of parchment.

 

“Sorry Ron,” Harry said, “I don't make the rules. A collar it is, until you're back to normal. At least it's charmed to snap off if you turn back so you won't strangle yourself.”

 

Something that sounded like a buzzing sigh emitted from between Ron's pincers and he teetered over to the self warming blanket and waited for Harry to continue. Slytherin was chillier the closer it got to Christmas, not ideal for a creature that had been bred for warmer climates.

 

“Smaller species of acromantula do not begin speaking until they are at least fifteen years of age,” Harry read, “well, I suppose that cuts down on the chance of being asked questions in potions.”

 

This was more of a relief to Harry than anyone else, he wasn't sure what he would have done if Ron could have complained about being a spider the whole time.

 

“Acromantulas also eat live mammals, generally voles and rats,” Harry said, “these must be administered daily in an enclosure to keep the mammals from escaping.”

 

Theodore kept inching closer to Ron, eager to prod him. He'd already been bitten once for poking Ron in one of his six eyes and Harry was quite ready to let it happen again if it would put a stop to their fussing at one another.

 

“If the acromantula is quite young, there's a risk that larger voles may damage it before it can feed. However, free feeding is discouraged as diseases may travel from prey to predator in the wild.”

 

Harry snapped the book shut. In the green, grim glow of the Slytherin common room he considered the bright red spider perched on the blanket and made a decision.

 

“Well, I'm not carrying you everywhere with a pillow and blanket,” Harry said, “try to climb up my arm and onto my head, it should be warm up there.”

 

Ron gave Harry a once over with his six eyes and then turned himself around.

 

“Oh come on,” Harry said, “do you want to be tucked under my arm or worse yet, be pawed at by first-years in the halls?”

 

Ron turned himself back around and considered his options (the first-years were a very real threat, spiders were considered quite impressive and interesting to just about every eleven year old), then made for the arm Harry had extended. He crept up slowly at first, then much more quickly until he was perched on the top of Harry's head.

 

“Oh that's rather something,” Theodore said, smirking, “looks like the world's ugliest hat.”

 

“You'd be the expert on ugly hats,” Millicent said.

 

“My hats are fantastic,” Theodore said, “Headmaster Dumbledore said so himself.”

 

“The Headmaster regularly comes to Wizangamot meetings in an orange and purple spotted robe,” Millicent reminded him.

 

Ron spider fussed in Harry's messy hair until he had a nest to sit in.

 

Harry said, “that's much better. Now my hands are free to carry my books and I can put the blanket and pillow in my bag.”

 

Theodore cast a tempus to check the time.

 

“Looks like we're off to Herbology,” Theodore said, “after all those mandrakes, I'm ready for greenhouse one again.”

 

“Where's Malfoy?” Harry asked.

 

“Professor Gamp,” Millicent said, “didn't you hear him bragging at lunch time? He hasn't shut up since last class.”

 

“I try to tune that out,” Harry said.

 

In fact, he had trained himself to think about almost anything besides Malfoy's conversations after that incident in the lake.

 

“She's got him researching something about his family,” Millicent said, “seemed awfully keen about it, whatever it was.”

 

“Whatever it is, it's top secret. He wouldn't tell any of us what he was looking for, not even Blaise when he asked at bed check,” Theodore said.

 

“Best be on our way,” Millicent said, “I think we're warming up toadstools with knit hats today.”

 

“Horklumps,” Harry said, “and anyone who would try to grow hopping fungus in winter time is a few sickles short.”

 

When they arrived at Herbology, Hermione Granger was mysteriously absent. The class had broken up into their usual work groups and each table was supplied with buckets, tiny knit hats and a few charmed rubbish bin covers to repel angry horklumps. Harry and Theodore made their way over to Terry Boot who was being given the stink-eye by a clump of second-year Ravenclaws.

 

“What did you do now?” Theodore asked.

 

“It's nothing really,” Terry said, “some people get shirty over the smallest things.”

 

“He stole our notes!” a blonde boy shouted.

 

“I didn't take anything, Corner,” Terry shouted back, “besides, who wants your rubbish research!”

 

“Ha!” Corner said, “says the charms cheater!”

 

Harry scowled at him, “back to your old tricks I see.”

 

“I'm not,” Terry said, emphatically, “besides, for all I know they lost them the ordinary way.”

 

It wasn't very surprising that Terry didn't mention any correction at all about cheating; it was almost an academic exercise to see if he could get caught, it wasn't as if a boy as smart as Terry actually needed to do it to get an excellent mark.

 

“Anyway,” Terry said, “Granger's not here because she's upset about something. I saw her acting harried in the common room this afternoon after spending half the morning in the library. She even skipped transfiguration and usually that's her favorite.”

 

“Upset,” Harry said, “or onto something.”

 

After chasing the horklumps around and trying not to get knocked over by their angry bouncing, everyone had finally crammed as many knit hats as they could get onto their plump mushroom heads. Theodore thought it might be funny to put one of the hats on Ron but was quickly cured of that ambition, as Ron had knocked over a bucket of horklumps by Theodore's left side. Harry was content to let Theodore get pummeled by angry bouncing fungus until class was finally over and they quickly worked together to clean up. Once Harry got back to his common room he found Ginny anxiously waiting for him.

 

“Quidditch practice,” she offered by way of explanation, “Our brothers are playing, I thought Ron would like to come.”

 

“Down, Ron,” Harry said.

 

The spider begrudgingly made his way from Harry's head down his arm and into his sister's arms.

 

“Oh, Ron,” Ginny griped, “stop kicking, that's scratchy!”

 

“Better to have him in your hair,” Harry said, “like this.”

 

Harry settled Ron on top of Ginny's head, who promptly made a nest. His colouring almost entirely blended in and Harry tried not to giggle since Ginny appeared to have a very strange six eyed monster perched on her head instead of hair.

 

“At least he'll have a good view of the pitch,” Harry said.

 

“Maybe we could both go,” Ginny stammered, “to Gryffindor's practice.”

 

“Not on,” Harry said, “I've got to find Hermione. She's been upset all morning, at least that's what Terry said.”

 

“Oh,” Ginny said, disappointed, “good luck with Hermione.”

 

“Right,” said Harry.

 

Harry hardly looked back as he ran to his dorm room to gather up a few books and then made his way rather quickly to the library. Since the quidditch pitch was likely full despite the dreadful weather, the library was almost entirely empty. In the very back in a dark, unkempt corner he found Hermione. Or at first, Harry only found an enormous stack of books with a few tufts of bushy hair sticking up over it.

 

“What have you been doing,” Harry said, “you missed transfiguration and herbology. Everyone's been wondering where you'd got to.”

 

When Hermione dropped her book, Harry flinched a bit. She looked quite angry.

 

“It's a long story,” Hermione managed with a slightly choked voice, “I've been so- so stupid! I should never have listened-!”

 

Her voice escaped her as her frustration became evident, Hermione pushed a sheet of paper across the table that Harry recognized as a slip for Ravenclaws doing research for Professor Gamp. Underneath the ordinary parchment text was a bright blue fancy script paragraph he'd never seen before.

 

“What's this?” Harry asked.

 

He tried to read it but the overly complicated legal jargon made his eyes cross. It looked like something the goblins at Gringott's would have written up.

 

“It means that no matter what we find or how we find it, we'll never get credit for anything, it all goes to Professor Gamp!” Hermione said, “We've all been hoodwinked, that's not a normal contract, it's a binding magical one! And everyone's affected from Professor Flitwick to the first-years because she made us all sign our slips for _safety reasons_!”

 

Harry felt a bit at a loss, “isn't that how research works? You do it as a team, or something.”

 

“No!” Hermione snapped, “that's not how research works. She's doing her own research, we're backing her up. All teams get credit but the way she's worded this, we can't even talk to each other about it after we're finished. She's tricked us, Harry. I knew there was something fishy about her when I read that book.”

 

“Salazar's Legacy,” Harry said, he hadn't read it himself but he had heard more about it from his Mum.

 

“How can one person do more research in a single lifetime than six or seven wizards managed in centuries? There's a reason almost nothing has been written about the Slytherin family for ages, it was nearly impossible to find books about it because they're all held in private collections.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, catching on, “and no pure blood family is going to let anything go to someone who might be barking up their family tree.”

 

“It could get embarrassing,” Hermione said, her mouth twisting, “who knows what they'd find, possibly even a muggleborn or two. But tricky contracts like this- well, I'm certain some families thought they were getting more than what they got. I was casting spells to try and make- oh, it doesn't matter anymore. The point is, I hit parchment and there was a bit of backlash, then it hit the form and those words appeared. She hadn't counted on anyone finding it and it's illegal to keep it completely hidden. So she made sure it was under a complicated charm that wore off after a time, long after she'd be gone.”

 

It suddenly dawned on Harry why Professor Gamp might be blackmailing Lucius Malfoy and possibly, why death eaters attacked the book shop.

 

“She's writing about the sacred twenty-eight,” Harry said.

 

“Salypso's legacy is long,” Hermione said, “she said so in her book. Who knows where that family ended up and who knows what Armand Malfoy hid. But the problem is, I'm not sure where to go from here. I'm not giving Professor Gamp any more help, that's for certain.”

 

“She thinks she's cleverer than everyone else,” Harry said, “that's what Mum said when I asked about her. And she's quick enough to live up to it. Hagrid even warned me about her, she was probably nicer in school but these days there's not much to stop her.”

 

“Her ego may be her downfall,” Hermione said, with more relish than was likely proper, “but that's not important right now. The most important thing is that I've found what Professor Gamp sent the Ravenclaws to look for. I'm glad I didn't tell her when I should have, I wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Come on, I'll show you.”

 

They gathered up their books and Harry was quite dismayed to see Hermione was intent on checking out her entire enormous stack. After a stop at Madame Pince's desk and a lot of arguing over a particular volume and its appropriateness for second-years, they finally managed to make their way to Ravenclaw tower.

 

The bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle on the common room door gave Harry a rather sudden thrill. It opened its eyes slowly, taking a look at them both, then asked a riddle.

 

“Out of all the odd numbers in arithmancy, which one becomes even once beheaded?”

 

The question seemed a bit ghoulish for Ravenclaw but Hermione quickly answered.

 

“Seven, of course,” Hermione said, “honestly, what sort of prefect thought that one up?”

 

“Very good,” the knocker intoned.

 

The door swung open and Harry was suddenly awash in a beautiful starry sky, only it wasn't real like the great hall. It glittered and sparkled high above, fantastically painted to illuminate all the many astrological signs and symbols in the night sky.

 

“Wish I lived here,” Harry choked out.

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, in a sad tone, “I do too. But I'm sure Theodore would miss you in Slytherin, goodness knows he needs all the help he can get.”

 

“I thought you were cross with him,” Harry said.

 

“I still am,” Hermione said, “but it's obvious it's not entirely his fault how insensitive he is, with a father like that he never had a chance. Malfoy by comparison, is mean spirited to a fault _._ ”

 

They went towards one of the many window seats and laid down Hermione's stack of books on the adjoining table.

 

“Usually I can't get here during the day,” Hermione said, “Marietta Edgecombe and all her friends like to gather around and talk for hours.”

 

It was certainly clear what Hermione thought about that.

 

“Once they got up and left I could finally check for the stone-”

 

“The stone?” Harry said.

 

“The founders stones,” Hermione said, “each founder left their signature in their common room. They carved their names on stones and set them. Every subsequent renovation has kept the stones, however, what most people don't know is the first group of students thought it was a brilliant idea and left their names too. The Hufflepuff student's stone for instance is in the Hogwarts kitchen according to _Hogwarts: A History_. But Ravenclaw's student stone is here.”

 

Hermione pointed to a rather old looking stone to the left of the window.

 

“Can you see the names there?” Hermione said.

 

It was difficult to make out any writing at all but Harry eventually began to see words, carved so long ago they had been worn down to mere ghosts.

 

“Ferdinand Fortuna, Gertrude Gamp,” Harry read, awkwardly, “Helena Ravenclaw, oh the founder's daughter! And erhm...that one is hard to read.”

 

“That's because it's in ancient Basque,” Hermione said, “a language sort of between French and Spanish. If I hadn't been to France just last summer, I would never have known what it looked like at all.”

 

“So what does it say,” Harry said, “it looks kind of like an M..maybe a few s's.”

 

“It says _Maneasar Mescreance_ ,” Hermione said, “it's a rather odd name and not just because it's Basque. I think wizards rather enjoyed alliterative names during this part of the century. Look at the letters and remember the drawing of the tapestry we saw and ripped out page-”

 

“Right!” Harry said, “it may have said Maneasar on the other side!”

 

“Exactly,” Hermione said, “but there's no record of anyone called Maneasar anywhere at Hogwarts. He's not mentioned in the annals by name either, I may have to go looking in the founder's account of their first students. But it's impossible to gain access to them unless you're a Hogwarts Professor...”

 

“Or you have connections to someone on the board of education,” Harry said, there had been trials he had read about in History of Magic that were much more exciting than Professor Binn's class.

 

“You mean if we talk to Malfoy,” Hermione said, shrewdly.

 

“Professor Gamp has Malfoy running research for her, that tells me he doesn't know anything about her blackmailing his father. All we have to do is tell him and he'll be on our side quicker than a flash,” Harry said.

 

“Are you certain?” Hermione said, “He is a Slytherin, they're hard to tru- oh! Harry, I'm so sorry.”

 

“No offense taken,” Harry said, bitterly admiring the blue and bronze silks hanging high around the ceiling.

 

Harry looked out the common room window and could see the quidditch pitch far down below and the green and silver equipment on the Slytherin team, glittering wetly in the rain. They had taken to practicing in the evening, since Gryffindor did the mornings. It seemed Slytherin was quite eater to improve their game and show off their new broom tricks to the lingering Gryffindors. The white-blonde hair of Draco Malfoy was visible in the gloom, his head bobbing along with the others.

 

“It's all we've got,” Harry said, “besides, there's nothing in the world Malfoy loves more than his family. It's the only thing we can count on.”

 

“Unless you find the Slytherin student's stone. Perhaps that might lead us to a clue,” Hermione said, “but it doesn't say in any of the textbooks where it is.”

 

“I haven't seen it,” Harry said, “and I've looked around the common room quite a bit searching for the rest of that tapestry.”

 

After some deliberation they decided getting Draco Malfoy's attention was their best chance at going any further into the mystery without Professor Gamp's notice. After quidditch practice on a very wet evening, Harry and Hermione spent some time shivering under an awning casting warming charms on each other until Malfoy finally left the changing room.

 

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted, “Over here!”

 

Sauntering towards the awning in no hurry at all, despite Harry's obvious shivering, Malfoy's face twisted into an ugly sneer when he saw Hermione.

 

“Shouldn't you be more cautious in the cold, Potter,” said Malfoy, “mudbloods carry all sorts of diseases, who knows what you could catch from being near them.”

 

It was a near thing but Harry saw Hermione's wand hand twitch and tighten up into a fist. Her chin jutted out and she straightened herself up proudly.

 

“We've got something to say to you,” Hermione said, puffing herself up even more, “it's very important. It has to do with your family and we need your help.”

 

“I don't need help from a mudblood,” Malfoy said, looking his most arrogant.

 

Harry shrugged, “fine then. Let Myrto Gamp blackmail your father all she likes and see if I care. Come on, Hermione.”

 

“Blackmail!” Draco shouted, then clamped his hand over his mouth as though just remembering he was on an open pitch, “If you're making this up Potter-!”

 

“I'm not, I saw it when I ran through Knockturn Alley this summer,” Harry said, “if you want to hear more, we can talk in the abandoned classroom by the dungeons.”

 

In the grimy, dimly lit classroom full of rubbish desks and old suits of armour long stilled, Harry and Hermione told Draco what they knew.

 

“She's tricked us,” Draco finally said, his skin pale, “all these years she's been using my father's money for research-”

 

“Really?” Hermione said, surprised.

 

“Oh yes,” Draco said, “along with Nott, Crabbe, Mulciber and many others. It did seem strange but father mentioned it to me. That Myrto Gamp was an imminent researcher and we were funding her project, along with the Nott's. This was last year mind and the name Myrto is rather odd, a bit old fashioned so it stuck out. That's why I wanted to help her, she was father's favorite-”

 

“Until she found out something nasty,” Hermione said.

 

Harry let it go that Draco had called someone's name old fashioned, considering his own.

 

“It's more likely father had some notion she would find something unpleasant,” Draco said with a sniff, “the Malfoys have been clever enough to sort out our rubbish long before it becomes a problem.”

 

“Generally with poison,” Harry said, “according to the history books.”

 

“Your family isn't any nicer,” Draco said, “last I heard half of them were burnt alive in the fourteenth century.”

 

“I bet Theodore told you that,” Harry said, “it's not like you've cared enough to ever notice anyone but yourself.”

 

“I never thought you cared enough to have me noticing,” Draco snapped back, “after all the help I've been giving you.”

 

“Help!” Harry said, “More like hindering!”

 

Both boys were breathing hard and getting a bit worked up, Hermione interjected before they could come to blows.

 

“Calm down!” she said, “We don't want to be noticed. The important part is that whatever Professor Gamp has found out, she hasn't got the proof she needs yet to really go ahead. If she's determined to ruin your family Malfoy, she would need an awful lot of evidence to back it up. I'm assuming it wouldn't be something so easily turned aside with a bit of money. Have you any idea what she could be holding over your father's head?”

 

Draco shook his head.

 

“I'm not sure what could be that serious,” Draco said, “no idea, in fact.”

 

“Then the sooner we find out, the sooner the mystery is solved,” Hermione said.

 

“I'm not helping you,” Malfoy said, “not without some compensation.”

 

“Compensation!” Harry said, “Saving your entire sodding family isn't enough?”

 

“It might not be anything my father can't handle,” Draco said, but he looked like he wasn't entirely convinced himself, “in any event, what I want is a rather small matter all things considered.”

 

“What's that,” Harry snapped.

 

“Quidditch lessons,” Draco said, “from the son of the best quidditch player Hogwarts has seen in centuries.”

 

“He can't play Malfoy,” Hermione said, “he has health problems.”

 

“He can't play on the team,” Malfoy said, “I distinctly recall Potter mentioning that the occasional quidditch game isn't a problem.”

 

Harry flushed, it was true.

 

“If he becomes ill,” Hermione said, “it's going to be all your fault. And besides, aren't new brooms enough of a boon against Gryffindor?”

 

Malfoy looked annoyed, “new brooms can only compete so much with superb training and if I'm going to catch that snitch, it's imperative to have an advantage.”

 

“All right then,” Harry said quickly, before he'd regret it, “but anything you find has to be shown to us, or the lessons are off.”

 

“I would ask to shake both your hands but,” and Malfoy looked straight at Granger with a disgusted expression, “I'd rather not. Who knows if it's catching.”

 

It likely took every ounce of Hermione Granger's self control not to smack Draco's poncy face with one of the enormous textbooks she had tucked under her arms.

 

“See you on the pitch tomorrow evening, Potter,” Malfoy said.

 

After Malfoy left, they returned to the library somewhat wetter but no more knowledgable than before. Hermione slammed one of her books on the table and made an annoyed sound.

 

“He's going to regret that,” she said, “you see, I have some idea what Professor Gamp might have found out that could cause so much trouble. It came to me while we were talking. It's not very pretty and it's the sort of thing someone couldn't go around saying unless they had a lot of proof-”

 

“Save it,” Harry said, as badly as he wanted to hear what she thought he knew it would do them more good to sit on it, “we never know when we'll need it to keep Malfoy quiet.”

 

“Harry,” Hermione said, “is Malfoy your friend?”

 

“Not really,” Harry said, a little too quickly.

 

“Not the way Theodore is,” Hermione nodded, “I suppose it's worth keeping in mind, I may not know everything about the wizarding world but that sort of thing, it clearly has consequences in Slytherin house.”

 

Perhaps Harry and Malfoy weren't friends but he still began to feel a little bit nervous about what they were doing. Who knew what terrible things they could dig up from a thousand years ago in the past?

 

“It's going to take everything we've got to find the truth,” Hermione said, “I only hope Draco Malfoy can stomach it once it's found.”

 

Any lingering sympathies Harry may have offered towards Malfoy quickly dried up during their first quidditch lesson. The weather had refused to dry up and only grew colder and unfortunately, wetter. Harry felt as though he were on the verge of a cold for days right up until the week before Halloween. Sniffling and spending most mornings blowing his nose it was with great trepidation that Harry trudged out to the quidditch pitch during the late afternoon on a weekend and put on his quidditch gear. It was a little tight as it had been bought last year when there had been a chance Harry might have made the team. His broom as well was only a mere Nimbus 2000 but Harry knew that he would do rings around Malfoy if given half a chance.

 

The problem was when Harry made it back onto the pitch it wasn't just Draco Malfoy standing by the goal posts but the entire Slytherin quidditch team.

 

“I never agreed to this!” Harry shouted.

 

“You agreed to quidditch lessons,” Malfoy reminded him, smugly.

 

“For you, not the entire sodding team!” Harry said.

 

The long line of quidditch players had grim, sodden expressions and looked about as friendly as the Hogwarts stone gargoyles that loomed over the courtyard.

 

“It's all right Malfoy,” Flint said, “I doubt he's any good, what with being out of practice for so long.”

 

Harry scowled, “I practiced just this summer. That's not the point.”

 

“Maybe his Dad wasn't as good as everyone said he was,” Higgs said.

 

“Or all talk,” Bletchley filled in.

 

Harry was about ready to throw his broom at them and head back towards Hogwarts but the sound of someone running rather quickly and breathlessly onto the pitch made him reconsider.

 

“What are you doing here, Milli?” Flint said, nastily, “I told you, unless Professor Snape says otherwise you're not on the team!”

 

“There's nothing against me practicing!” Millicent shouted.

 

An opportunity presented itself and Harry decided he might as well take it.

 

“I'll do it,” Harry said, “and I promise that I'm not all talk. But Millicent comes too.”

 

It was a testament to Flint's desperation that he agreed without argument but everyone knew, Slytherin might have had new brooms and an excellent seeker but their quidditch skills were well below average. Harry may have been only twelve but he had grown up with the best players Hogwarts had ever seen. Tightening his grip on his broom, he was determined to show it.

 

Flint blew the whistle and the team lifted up off the ground, Pucey glared at Millicent who rose with them, perhaps because he thought she wanted his position. It was common knowledge between Harry and his friends that Millicent would likely make an excellent beater, not least because of her intimidating size. She had walloped a few sixth year girls during a rowdy game of gobstones earlier in the year and it had taken skele-grow to get their noses right again. Her swing was formidable and in Harry's opinion, Slytherin could do with someone who could aim right.

 

“All right, Potter?” Draco said, in a sneering tone.

 

“Fragile health still hanging in there?” Bletchley said, chuckling.

 

Their keeper was all right but he spent most of his time looking at the girls on the other team and not guarding the goal posts. He was also friendly with the Slyhterin prefects and enjoyed making life hard for Harry. Like Draco, he was a pale platinum blond. But unlike Draco, he wasn't particularly handsome and had a rather pronounced overbite and a strung-out look about him.

 

“I can already fly rings around you, sick or not,” Harry said, “and I bet Johnson will too if you can't keep your eyes on the posts.”

 

“You'll be paying for that!” Bletchley threatened, turning rather pink.

 

After a few speedy laps around the pitch testing out the new Nimbus 2001's, Harry dipped low to see if he could still skim the grass. He managed to dip onto the ground and then seemed to hit something, rather hard in the bleachers that sent him spinning.

 

“Good one Potter,” Bletchley laughed, rather nastily.

 

“Oi!” said Flint, “who put the shielding charm over the empty bleachers?”

 

After straightening his glasses Harry looked back and didn't see anything at all. It was rather odd, since shielding charms generally didn’t go 'oof!' rather loudly when one hit them. Nor did they sound like trainers hitting hard bleachers or bodies tumbling over.

 

“Funny,” Harry said, suspiciously eying the bleachers.

 

Draco zoomed by on his broom, “come on, Potter! Are you going to teach us anything worth learning, or aren't you?”

 

Harry grit his teeth and sped after Malfoy. They raced nearly broom to broom and then Harry fell back in a rather dramatic spin and plunged towards the grass. Malfoy could barely follow him and when Harry spun on a corner and turned himself around almost instantly, it was almost embarrassing to notice that the entire team had stopped to watch.

 

“That's bloody brilliant!” Flint said.

 

“It's not that good,” Bletchley said.

 

“Shut yer gob,” Flint said, “it is too! Why isn't he on the team?”

 

Draco glared at Harry, “Because I'm the seeker.”

 

Crossly, Draco sped off trying a few flying tricks of his own. But the cat was already out of the bag, no one was as good at flying as Harry Potter. For the next hour, he had the undivided attention of the quidditch team as he gave them lessons on flying in peculiar patterns, feinting properly in the air and other things his father and godfather had taught him as a boy.

 

It was a remarkably wonderful afternoon because finally, he had the undivided attention of Slytherin house for all the right reasons. Harry Potter entered the great hall that evening for dinner feeling quite cheerful, all things considered.

 

At the table a space was carved out for him near the team but instead, he wanted to sit with Theodore who was looking a bit agitated.

 

“I was looking for you all over,” he snapped, “where were you?”

“Teaching me quidditch moves,” Millicent said, rather loudly, “and good ones, I'd add.

 

“They've finally let you on the team-,” Theodore began excitedly.

 

“Not as yet,” Millicent said, smirking, “but he's buttering them up.”

 

“So that's what you've been doing,” Theodore said, “I think Granger missed you. She was moaning about how you weren't there, that there was something she had to show you.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said.

 

Harry would have asked about more but the food popped into existence at that very moment and after a full few hours of practice Harry found himself starving. He ate more than he had ever eaten before and felt better than he'd ever felt in recent memory.

 

In the common room that evening, Harry was stuck lurking near Malfoy and his minions until he could get his attention. It was rather suffering to have to listen to Pansy and Daphne arguing about who was the ugliest Hufflepuff and even worse when Malfoy started up about all the historically significant places he'd seen in Europe. Harry didn't have much to offer to the conversation, he hid behind his book on a nearby chair and waited, irritably, for them to go away.

 

“Haven't seen him around lately,” Crabbe whispered rather loudly to Blaise.

 

“If Potter's lucky,” Blaise said in a much quieter tone, “maybe good breeding will rub off.”

 

“I think he's all right,” Crabbe said stubbornly, “not like the rest of the lot. Besides, weren't you dallying with a blood traitor just yesterday?”

 

Blaise looked perturbed and rather flushed, “that's not what I meant, you great oaf!”

 

Finally, Harry managed to get close to Malfoy when the rest cleared off.

 

“That erhm, thing,” Harry said, “when would it be possible to get started?”

 

“After Christmas,” Draco said, with a wave of his hand.

 

“WHAT?” Harry said, loudly.

 

“I'll have to go home to find the books,” Draco snapped, “unless you want mother and father asking me all sorts of questions.”

 

“All right,” Harry said glumly, it seemed so far away.

 

“Sit here, Potter,” Malfoy snapped, when Harry was just about to leave, “it looks less suspicious if we're seen interacting.”

 

“Think plenty heard about our interactions on the lake,” Harry said, darkly.

 

Malfoy gave him a long suffering look, “how are you ever going to make the right friends when you're so-”

 

At a loss for words, Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy and got up and left. Considering how long it would take Malfoy to do anything at all, Hermione was likely to be disappointed.

 

With a heavier heart, Harry returned to his table and opened up his books to study. Much more interesting was the conversation he could overhear between Millicent and Emmaline about her chances to join the team.

 

“Professor Snape ought to allow you,” Emmaline insisted, “if you practice as hard as you can this year, next year you'll be in the running for certain.”

 

In a much lower voice, Emmaline also said, “I also happen to know that I'll eventually become prefect. So if worse comes to worse, I'll do what I can to get you noticed. Girls like us, ought to stick together.”

 

“Girls like what?” Millicent said, a tinge of panic in her voice.

 

Emmaline hissed it between her teeth very low but Harry could still hear.

 

“ _Half-bloods!”_

 

Millicent looked visibly relieved.

 

“Oh, is that all,” Millicent said.

 

“There you are!” Theodore said, excitedly.

 

With a loud clunk, Theodore had set down another old, smelly book no doubt from his home library on Harry's table, along with a lot of rubbishy papers and a dusty looking stack of licorice wands.

 

“What you did for Milli,” Theodore said, he was chewing on licorice, “that's a brilliant move, that is.”

 

“I had to try something,” Harry muttered, “Flint wouldn't give her a chance otherwise.”

 

Theodore tried to offer some of his licorice wands to Harry but they smelled rather strongly of old papers and mustiness, so he politely declined.

 

“I've been spending time with Granger,” Theodore said, “she's awfully keen on whatever project you've been running in about. And awfully hateful towards Professor Gamp. It's a bit interesting, I don't think I've ever seen her dislike a teacher. She even sucks up to Professor Snape, which is a difficult task on the best of days.”

 

“Oi, Theodore,” Mulciber said, “better keep your nose clean or the old man will have something to say about it.”

 

Theodore looked annoyed, “what are you on about, Aleck?”

 

Aleck Mulciber was a very grim looking sixth year with a heavy set brow and stringy, dark hair. He was very good at charms but didn't bother with much else. He seemed to spend most of his time lingering around darkened Hogwarts hallways and smoking wizarding tabacco in the courtyard corners. Everyone knew he did it but he was clever enough about it, it was difficult even for Hogwarts staff to prove. He was certainly proof of the power of a good air dampening and scouring charm. Harry didn't like him but there weren't many Slytherin boys he was fond of to begin with.

 

“I got something for your Dad,” Mulciber said, “I'll hand it over later.”

 

“Right,” Theodore said.

 

Harry stared at Theodore, many possibilities of what that might be fluttered through his head. None of them good.

 

“What,” Harry stammered, “is he talking about.”

 

“Oh you know,” Theodore said, as though it were completely normal, “that stuff Dad smokes. It's a bit hard to come by.”

 

“Why's that,” Harry said.

 

“Because it's technically illegal,” Theodore said, “it's no big secret. Lots of old wizards and witches love it, so they ask for it. People like Mulciber's family make their money from growing and selling it.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, feeling a bit dreadful.

 

Considering Harry had grown up around a family quite steeped in auror activities, he knew quite well what drug trafficking actually entailed and that it was quite a sordid state of affairs. He could hardly believe that Theodore acted like that kind of thing was normal, or that any of his school mates would be involved in it so early in their Hogwarts career. But Harry supposed there were lots of dreadful things happening all over the school, it only took someone interested to notice it.

 

There were of course family crisis or like last year, a sixth year girl became pregnant, or students sometimes dropped out. Or much more seriously, a seventh year Ravenclaw had been kicked out just last year. Harry hadn't known them at all or any of the details, they were of course only rumours. Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry had been assured by his parents, was very good at handling all the issues that were involved in running a school. And often, they were not easy decisions to make.

Presented with the evidence, Harry had a difficult decision of his own to make. One he wasn't looking forward to at all.

 

Early Sunday morning, the letter felt heavy between Harry's hands though he knew it wasn't written with anything besides ordinary wizarding parchment. He sighed, reconsidering, then quickly stuffed the letter under some hay by an eagle owl that squacked at him loudly for disturbing her perch.

 

“What're you doing?”

 

Harry jumped. It was quite likely that Theodore had followed him all the way from the common room.

 

“Nothing,” Harry said, feeling guiltier than ever, “I was going to send home a letter about quidditch but I ehrm, thought better of it. Wouldn't want anyone to worry.”

 

“Right,” Theodore said, hesitantly, “what about study group?”  


“Oh bother,” Harry said, “I forgot all about it. Malfoy had me teaching the whole team when the deal was- ehrm, I need something from him, so I had to.”

 

Theodore laughed, “he'll have you run off your feet before you get anything out of him. It'd be better to sneak around my house in the library this Christmas if you wanted to find anything about his family.”

 

“How'd you-” but Harry knew, Theodore had likely been spending just enough time with Hermione to figure out something.

 

They would have to read very carefully from now on, Theodore was much too smart for his own good.. In the low light in the owlery from the early morning sun, Theodore did look a little bit haggard like his father. A bit scary. It wasn't that Harry didn't trust Theodore but he wasn't always sure what exactly he would do...

 

“Sorry Theodore,” Harry said, “I don't think I ought to.”

 

The illusion was broken when Theodore's face took on disappointment, he pouted like any other little boy would when let down by a friend.

 

“That thing with your Dad,” Theodore said, “it'll blow over. Millicent can make up a lie again and then we can have a party together, over the hols-”

 

“Theodore,” Harry said, firmly, “I'm not allowed. That means I can't even if I want to, very badly.”

 

“Wasn't as if I wanted you there anyway,” Theodore sulked.

 

“I'll send something with Milli,” Harry said, “I think she's going to get on the team, Emmaline said she'd vouch for her next year.”

 

That certainly seemed to cheer Theodore up and they blundered happily into breakfast talking excitedly about the Balleycastle Bats and their upcoming season. He barely thought about the letter he hadn't sent at all.

 

But what Theodore and Harry hadn't known, was that Neville had been heading towards the owlery to send a letter to his Gran and had almost walked into the two of them.

 

While Neville was nervous around Harry, he certainly wasn't afraid of him but Theodore Nott was an entirely different story. Neville waited quietly behind the half wall near the door. Thought it had been difficult growing up with Harry, who went off like a fire cracker over things he never quite understood, he knew he wasn't evil. But his friends – according to what some people said, they were the nastiest bunch you could find.

 

“What're you doing?” Theodore said.

 

Neville had seen Harry stuffing the envelope under the owl and he watched Theodore's whole body tense. Waiting quietly (something he was rather good at when he had to be, contrary to Harry always going on otherwise) he took in their conversation. Something was definitely up and Neville was quite sure whatever it was would be found in that letter. Neville flattened himself against the wall as Harry and Theodore left, chatting amiably, noticing little else.

 

Neville darted out from behind his hiding place and read the letter Harry had hid in the corner. He nearly felt sick afterward. How dare Harry keep such things from Mr. Potter, especially when they were illegal! He forwarded it to the auror's office in the hopes that Mr. Potter would read it.

 

There were certain practical considerations that Neville hadn't taken into account. For one, that each auror had their own desk and therefore the letter Neville had sent with the briefest explanation of its contents with Hedwig, had been carelessly dropped onto another auror's desk. One that was much less understanding than Mr. Potter.

 

“Look at this, Blishwick,” Auror Dawlish said, a nasty smile curving his lips.

 

“Why I'll be a Jarvey's Uncle,” said Auror Blishwick, “Boy Who Lived is good for something after all.”

 

“Being daft mostly,” Auror Dawlish said, laughing, “for all Potter and his sycophants tout his virtues, he doesn't know half of what goes on in the very same office.”

 

“It's not him I'm after personally,” Blishwick said, prodding his bandaged nose, “it's the little brat and his decrepit father. I have insider's knowledge, that book and all its evil is about to break over Hogwarts any day. Our benefactor made sure of it.”

 

“The Malfoy's wants this business with Nott and that nosy Professor cleared up,” Auror Dawlish said, “before it gets out of hand. Here's our chance on a silver platter.”

 

“Not silver,” Blishwick said, “but gold, from a fair man's pocket.”

 

“Keep it down,” Dawlish muttered, as Scrimgour marched past their desks, eying them carefully, “they won't send the boy into prison but we might get lucky.”

 

“If they charge the brat,” Auror Blishwick said, “it's the old man who will end up in Azkaban and that's square with me and our beneficiary. He wouldn't last a week in there, not shaking and hacking and gasping the way he does without his special brew.”

 

“Right,” Auror Dawlish said, “we'll take off as soon as we hear a positive confirmation, kill our two birds with one severing charm.”

 

In the quiet cubby in Slytherin's common room, Harry chewed on the edge of his pen, considering a worn leather book. Perhaps it was worth asking.

 

_**Do you know anything about Salypso Slytherin?** _

 

_I haven't heard that name since introductory potions. He invented the standard sized cauldron and increased potion viscosity, if memory serves._

 

_**Everyone knows all that. I was wondering if there was a different sort of story about him, something to do with the Malfoy's. Didn't you go to school with one?** _

 

_Abraxus Malfoy left before my time but Haddy told me a little about him. He was a rather severe sort, wasn't very keen on fun. Haddy said that even though he was a stick in the mud, witches went mad for him because he was so attractive. He could have married half of Hogwarts by the time he left school, if he had wanted to. There's not much more to say about the Malfoys. Besides, I know a lot more about Salazar Slytherin than Salypso, and the Chamber of Secrets._

 

Harry recalled reading about the chamber in _Hogwarts: A History_ , it was a rather exciting story about a whole secret room in the school. Supposedly, there had been a monster locked inside. It seemed rubbishy to Harry, as so very few creatures could survive that long anywhere at all. It was likely that whatever monster had long ago died of starvation and had left the chamber empty.

 

_**What is the chamber of secrets? Does it have anything to do with Salypso?** _

 

_Everyone knows the story of the Chamber but not many people know that Salypso had his own potion's library near the very same place. At least, that was the story. I found it in a very old book. If someone were to find the Chamber of Secrets, it might be possible to find Salypso's potion's library as well. But the wizard who found that would have to be very powerful indeed, it's said that Salypso was a master at dark magic and he sealed it up before dying._

 

Harry's hands suddenly felt sweaty and his heart began to race. So there was more to the story than met the eye...

 

_**Where is Salypso's laboratory?** _

 

_I don't know._

 

Harry felt disappointed, really, what was the use of a magic book if it couldn't tell him anything important?

 

_**What about the Chamber of Secrets.** _

 

_That Harry Potter, I can show you._

 

The world began to tilt and Harry suddenly felt a stab of panic. This wasn't like before when he was sucked into a book, this felt like someone else was taking control of him.

 

“So soon,” a strange voice said, “you must be a very powerful wizard, Harry Potter. I would say, you of all people would be likely to have found Salypso's Chamber. But not anymore...”

 

And then the world went black.

 

It could have been ages or a moment, Harry wouldn't have known. But when he came to, he felt frigidly cold and wet. Blinking wearily in low light, Harry finally managed to gather himself and realize he was hanging over a rather elaborate looking sink. The water in the basin was stained an ugly looking pink and Harry frantically checked himself for any injuries. He breathed relieved when he found none. Unfortunately, he began to cough and wheeze in a dreadful way.

 

“Up,” a familiar voice croaked, “up! Harry Potter must get up!”

 

“Kreacher?” Harry murmured, he felt very muzzy, “What are you doing here?”

 

“Harry Potter must get up! Harry Potter has been very naughty!” the elf croaked, “Playing with dark objects, hasn't the young master taught him anything?”

 

“Dark objects?” Harry said.

 

He took two staggering steps forward and then fell over a sudden lump, landing face first on the hard tiled floor, cracking his glasses.

 

“What was tha-” Harry said, then he froze.

 

It was practically an impossibility so Harry hadn't clearly considered it but the reality was now staring him in the face.

 

Quite literally.

 

Half visible and half invisible, Cedric Diggory was laying stiff as a board on the bottom of the abandoned bathroom with a look of shock frozen on his face. Harry at first, thought he might be dead but dead people didn't stare stiff and surprised as though stuck mid-shout.

 

Harry reached out and pulled at the invisible side of Cedric, slowly revealing the rest of him which was frozen just the same. Holding up the material, Harry realized he was holding; an invisibility cloak. It suddenly made so much sense, why he had felt he was being followed, the sounds he had heard around him as he was traversing Hogwarts in the evening. And the funny things that had happened during quidditch.

 

Harry felt a flood of anger, Cedric had been spying on him all this time! Who knew what he'd found out or where he'd been. Stuffing the cloak into his pocket he was just in time, not a moment later Myrtle floated up from the toilet.

 

“Where have you been?” Myrtle said, sulkily, “The bloody baron has had Hogwarts ghosts looking all over.”

 

Then she saw Cedric and froze.

 

“I-I just found him like that,” Harry said.

 

The sound of something large and scaled assaulted Harry's ears and he swore he could feel a very large body slide past him from behind the sink. Myrtle looked terrified, then she turned black and floated despairingly, frozen on her side.

 

“We wouldn't want poor Myrtle telling anyone the second time around, would we?” the voice said.

 

“Who are you,” Harry said, trembling, “where did you come from?”

 

“You already know who I am,” Tom Riddle said, “it's best to head back to your dormitory now, I think. They'll be looking for Cedric soon.”

 

“No,” Harry muttered, “I have to tell a prefect, I have to tell somebody.”

 

“Harry Potter musn't play with dark obje-” Kreacher gave out a terrified screech.

 

“Away with you,” Tom Riddle said hatefully, “I think you've done quite enough already for your traitorous master. _Cruciatus!_ ”

 

The spell missed and hit bare floor as Kreacher popped away.

 

“The diary,” Harry said, weakly, before his consciousness slipped away again.

 

When he woke for the second time, he thought was being prodded by a very irate spider.

 

“What is it, Ron,” Harry mumbled, “go away.”

 

But the prodding persisted until Harry blearily looked up and saw Theodore's disgruntled face.

 

“Falling asleep in the library,” Theodore said, perturbed, “missing study group, spending all your time teaching Malfoy quidditch, that's not very friendly.”

 

“Tom Riddle!” Harry shouted bolting upright.

 

“What has any of this got to do with him?” Theodore said.

 

Harry looked to his left and saw the diary sitting there, all pretense of being evil washed away in the library's warm glow. He knew better. Harry grabbed the book and ran with it, Theodore chasing his heels.

 

“What's gotten into you?” Theodore said, clamoring after him.

 

“How long,” Harry said, “before Halloween?”

 

“Halloween's tomorrow,” Theodore said.

 

“It's been two days!” Harry said aghast, “who knows what he's done in that time!”

 

They ran towards the third floor store room, the closest place Harry could think of that had a fireplace. Quickly, he waved his wand and lit a fire and then to Theodore's utter confusion hurled the book into the flames. It exploded in a noxious cloud of green smoke with a deafening bang. Theodore and Harry coughed and hacked quite a bit, until Theodore managed to cast a dispelling charm.

 

“What was that all about?” Theodore shouted, “I'm no fan of Tom Riddle but you're acting mental!”

 

“It was controlling me,” Harry said.

 

Theodore looked at him like he had grown hydra heads.

 

“I know it sounds mad, just listen,” Harry insisted, “I woke up in the girl's bathroom and-”

 

Harry paused, he wasn't sure if they had found Cedric. He wasn't sure at all what had gone on for three days.

 

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Theodore said deadpan, “it's you who've opened it.”

 

“The what?” Harry said.

 

“We talked about it just last night,” Theodore said, then he took on a look of utmost concern, “don't you remember anything?”

 

“No,” Harry said, his voice trembling, “I don't remember at all.”

 

“They found that boy,” Theodore said, “Cedric, petrified in the girl's bathroom. Along with Myrtle, frozen stiff. They had to bring her to the hospital wing with a gigantic fan! Quite a sight, that was. And then the writing on the wall... _The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened, enemies of the heir beware_...written in blood, impossible to remove. Filch was at it for hours!”

 

Harry felt distinctly unwell.

 

“Cedric and Myrtle looked so surprised, I suppose it makes sense. Who would think the son of an auror was the heir of Slytherin?”

 

“But I'm not the heir,” Harry insisted, “it wasn't me! It was Tom Riddle in that book.”

 

Theodore and Harry both looked nervously at the smouldering fire. After investigation of the ashes by the toe of his boot, Theodore seemed relieved.

 

“Looks like Mr. Head Boy is done for,” Theodore said, “good riddance.”

 

“Tom Riddle was a memory come to life,” Harry said, “he was luring me in with information about- things I wondered about that I couldn't find in books.”

 

Harry carefully omitted that it was information about Theodore's father.

 

“Then it became very strange,” Harry said, “I don't- don't feel very well.”

 

Staggering over to a dilapidated chair, Harry slumped into it wheezing sharply.

 

“I think-,” Theodore said, in a trembling voice, “I think I know what's happened to you. Because it's the same thing that I think is happening to Dad.”

 

“What's that,” Harry said, untying his scarf so he could breathe better.

 

“It's an object,” Theodore said, taking on a zeal he usually saved for the most dire and devious of information, “cursed by the original owner's soul. Very, very dark wizards would use things like that to prolong their life. I suppose Tom Riddle must have been very talented if my Dad took an interest in him in school, being muggle born.”

 

“Did your Dad make one of those- _things?_ ” Harry asked.

 

“No, he's oddly superstitious about things like souls,” Theodore said, “he even avoids the killing curse.”

 

It was strange because Harry distinctly recalled hearing Hadrian Nott utter the first few syllables during the duel in the bookshop but when he recalled the ring on his finger, it suddenly dawned on him that it might not have been Hadrian Nott at all. At least, not entirely.

 

“Why not?” Harry said.

 

“Because when you're dead, it matters,” Theodore said, “it stands to reason, we're dead a lot longer than we're alive. I suppose if the worst happened he wouldn't have wanted to be in pieces.”

 

It was an extremely grim thought to Harry but he supposed dark wizards considered that sort of thing more often than most.

 

“I couldn't find any books about it, I suppose Dumbledore removed them from the library. He's very against that sort of magic, even theoretically,” Theodore said, “but I did find one thing. A word.”

 

Theodore bent close to Harry's ear and whispered it.

 

“A horcrux,” Theodore said.

 

Harry felt a cold shiver go through him, though it was a just a word, what it meant was quite frightening and he couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was looming over his shoulder, listening to their conversation. But that was entirely impossible as Harry had the invisibility cloak still in his pocket.

 

“Don't go saying it aloud to just anyone,” Theodore said, “I had to be careful looking for what I did, someone might think we're trying to make one.”

 

“Who would ever want to do that?” Harry said.

 

“Someone who desperately wanted to stay alive,” Theodore said, “I'm not looking forward to being dead but I suppose I'd see my Mum again. Wouldn't want to mess that up.”

 

Harry thought that was the wisest thing Theodore had ever said.

 

“Can we go now,” Harry said, feeling distinctly spooked.

 

“Yeah,” Theodore said, “besides, Ron's been missing for three days we might want to try and find him.”

 

“WHAT?” Harry shouted.

 

“Well it seemed like it wasn't important at the time,” Theodore said, “I suppose it wasn't really you I was talking to.”

 

“We've got to find him,” Harry said, panicked, “if he ends up in the Forbidden Forest and finds any other acromantulas...!”

 

“ _Cannibals_ ,” Theodore said, his eyes widening, “sod it all. Let's go to Hagrid's, he might have some idea what to do!”

 

It was nearing dinner time but a nasty surprise was waiting for both of them in the Great Hall. A small gathering of aurors had neatly surrounded the Professor's table and the Headmaster was already attempting negotiations with them.

 

“There he is!” auror Dawlish shouted, pointing directly at Theodore.

 

“I'm not going to Azkaban!” Theodore choked out, then took off tearing through the Great Hall almost bowling over a pack of first-year Ravenclaws arriving to dinner early.

 

“Theodore!” Harry shouted, without waiting a moment he ran after him.

 

It didn't take much to figure out where Theodore was headed as it was his best chance of escape. He was running towards the Forbidden Forest.

 

Feeling incredibly winded Harry ran into Neville and Ginny Weasley on the way through Hogwarts entryway.

 

“What have you done with my brother!” Ginny shouted.

 

“I know you're up to something!” Neville said.

 

Ginny had apparently gotten the wrong idea from Neville and Harry had no time at all to correct either of them.

 

“Follow me and find out!” Harry shouted at them, “I can't explain but it wasn't me!”

 

Ginny, Neville and Harry now joined in the chase. By the time they had arrived breathless to Hagrid's pumpkin patch there was quite a crowd waiting for them. The Headmaster had apparently taken a different, much quicker route and was waiting for Theodore by his pumpkins. Dawlish arrived looking quite winded himself and began shouting at the Headmaster.

 

“You can't hid him forever,” Dawlish said, “he's a nasty little blighter, that one is!”

 

“Running illegal substances through Hogwarts, consorting with bad sorts, and worst of all, he very likely opened that chamber,” an auror said, who looked older than Dumbledore and was wearing a ridiculously thick bandage over his nose, “he's the only one who could have known where it was!”

 

None of the aurors were ones Harry recognized beside Dawlish and their grim faces and foul disposition reminded Harry distinctly of Slytherin house. These were not the friends of his Dad the famous auror James Potter, that was most certain. Harry tentatively crept around the pumpkin patch with Ginny and Neville creeping close behind.

  
“Accio collar,” Harry whispered.

 

A limp looking collar landed at his feet and he sighed. Ron must have broken out of it long ago and only the tattered remains were left.

 

“Those don't look like bite marks,” Neville stammered, unsure, “do they?”

 

“I hope he wasn't eaten by anything nasty,” Harry said, “we've got to find him before it gets dark or he might be.”

 

Ginny gasped and looked like she was going to cry, “oh, Harry!”

 

The rain began to appear in gigantic sodden drops. In a few minutes, Hagrid's pumpkin patch became a gigantic puddle of mud and water.

 

“Theodore!” Harry shouted excitedly, he was standing next to their purple pumpkins looking furious.

 

“Why don't you tell him Nev,” Theodore spat, “I saw Hedwig flying away just yesterday, tell Harry the truth!”

 

“There's nothing to tell!” Neville shouted back.

 

“What do you mean?” Harry said.

 

“He set the aurors on me,” Theodore said, his voice shaking he was so angry, “I saw him in the owlery just yesterday, he must have grabbed that letter Harry wrote and sent it!”

 

“How did Nott know what was in that letter?” Ginny asked, aghast.

 

“Easy really,” Theodore said, “Harry wrote it on thin parchment, he left the rest of his pages behind. Hold that up to a fire and the whole thing was right there.”

 

“Clever,” Ginny murmured, a little in awe.

 

“I didn't-,” Neville stuttered, “I thought he was doing terrible things! Of course I wrote to the Auror Office, I had to! It was the right thing to do, it seemed doubly right when all this chamber stuff started up!”

 

“You could have asked me about it first,” Harry said, whirling on Neville, “didn't you think?”

 

“Not after he turned Ron into a spider!” Neville shouted back, “I heard Professor Gamp talking, only a really dark wizard could have cast that! It must have been him! Who else could have done it!”

 

“I don't know!” Harry said, “But it wasn't him! And I already know who opened the chamber! It was me!”

 

Neville and Ginny both gasped in shock and Harry knew he'd have to speak fast to avoid them running away in fright.

 

“It wasn't my fault,” Harry said, “Tom Riddle took control of me, he made me do things! Theodore helped stop it! He's not a dark wizard, anymore than I am!”

 

“Who's Tom Riddle?” Neville asked, sounding terrified.

 

“None of this matters!” Harry said desperately, “let's go find Ron! Theodore, the Headmaster won't let them take you, I promise!”

 

“I can't trust the Headmaster,” Theodore said, “I can't trust you either, when you were going to tell your Dad!”

 

“Theodore!” Harry said.

 

Desperately, he wished he had never written that letter. If only Neville hadn't been so keen on being a snitch...but the rain was coming down hard and the longer they stood outside the sooner the aurors would notice them.

 

“I can't trust anybody,” Theodore said, his voice choking, “not even my best friend.”

 

Theodore ran towards the forest and Harry abandoned all attempts at finding Ron and ran further towards the dark, looming trees. Not a few steps in, there was a large trunk at the edge of Hagrid's pumpkin patch. With broken glasses Harry didn't have much in the way of a view and he tripped and fell face first into an enormous puddle, smashing his head on a rock.

 

After a few seconds of feeling dazed, he scrambled up with Ginny's help.

 

“You're bleeding,” Ginny said.

 

There would be an enormous bump on the side of his head if he didn't get to Madame Pompfrey before bed time.

 

“Come on,” Harry said.

 

“We can't,” Neville said, bounding down the hill.

 

Neville pointed to the gentle slope by the pumpkin patch. Several adult witches and wizards loomed against Hogwarts' twinkling lights. The Headmaster's long white beard stood out in the darkness, he was rapidly making progress towards them.

 

“Now, now,” he said calmly, “everything will be put to rights.”

 

Bursting from the forest Hagrid's very large silhouette appeared, wearing a ridiculously large, black rain hat.

 

“It wasn't Theodore!” Hagrid boomed, “I'd swear it in front of the ministry of magic himself!”

 

“I know it wasn't,” the Headmaster said, “for when one of the attacks occurred I happened to walk past him coming from the owlery. However-”

 

And with that he looked squarely at Harry who was rather sodden and muddy and tear streaked.

 

“-there is quite a lot I would like to discuss. The three of you, please come with me.”

 

“But my brother,” Ginny said, “with all this rain!”

 

“It's all right,” Hagrid said, “I found 'em safe and sound. We can go and pick 'em up tomorrow when it's light out. I didn't see where Theodore had got to, more worried about him in this weather.”

 

“I believe Theodore is quite used to the concept of camping and warming charms,” the Headmaster said, looking rather annoyed in the aurors direction, “it would be foolhardy for anyone to try and find him before morning.”

 

Auror Dawlish strode right up to the Headmaster, who didn't look the least bit intimated.

 

“This isn't over,” the auror said, “that boy is a criminal in the making. Just like You-Know-Who was and those of us old enough to remember all know what you did about that bad egg. A bit ineffectual! Mark my words, it won't stop until Theodore's put away where he ought to be.”

 

“I suppose the benefactor of your newly fattened pocket book has nothing to do with such zeal,” the Headmaster said tartly, “I've never been much for bullies who target defenseless children, myself. Come along, children and Hagrid. I'm sure all of you could do with some warming up. You'll have to go back to Azkaban empty handed today, auror Dawlish and I'm not sorry about it in the least.”

 

“I'm not moving!” Harry shouted.

 

He sat down in a muddy puddle and crossed his arms.

 

“Not until we look for Theodore!” he said.

 

“Oh no,” Neville said, “he'll never leave now.”

 

“Hagrid,” the Headmaster said kindly, “if you wouldn't mind.”

 

“Right,” Hagrid said, “I'm sure Theodore would thank ye for yer loyalty if'n he could 'arry. But it's time to come in before you catch your death of cold.”

 

Easily and without much effort, Hagrid plucked Harry from his muddy perch to his intense dismay. Despite his violent struggles it wasn't anything for such an enormous man to haul a tiny twelve year old all the way to Hogwarts entrance.

 

“I believe that dinner is over,” the Headmaster said, “I would like all of you to join me in my dining room, once dried off.”

 

Ginny and Neville looked at each other nervously but both assented. The four strong sodden looking group made their way towards Hogwarts castle and followed the Headmaster up the long moving staircase.

 

“Hello Percy!” Sir Nicholas boomed in the hallway.

 

“Good evening, Sir Nicholas!” Percy said.

 

“Mr. Weasley,” the Headmaster said, “please be aware two of your charges are accompanying me this evening and would you mind alerting the Slytherin prefects that Harry Potter is also to join them?”

 

“Yes, sir!” Percy said, with relish.

 

Harry stuck his tongue out at him, it surely didn't hurt even if he was being carried like a sack of turnips by Hagrid up the stairs. Sir Nicholas caught him at it though and gave him a rather disapproving look.

 

When they had climbed enough stairs they had turned down a hallway near Gryffindor's tower that Harry had never been in before. It led to several rooms with elaborate red, wooden doors. Headmaster Dumbledore waved his wand and one opened to let them all in.

 

Inside the room there was an enormous fireplace that Hagrid immediately plunked Harry next to.

 

“Hold on and Madame Pompfrey will fix you right up,” Hagrid encouraged.

 

“I don't want to be fixed,” Harry sulked, “I want to go look for Theodore.”

 

Harry wiped away the blood from his forehead and felt his misery growing exponentially by the minute. Both Neville and Ginny looked at one another warily, they knew what was coming. It was only a matter of time.

 

The Headmaster encouraged the fire to burn a little brighter and cast tingly warming and drying charms on all of them until they were as good as new (Hagrid took about five and Harry about three a piece). Madame Pompfrey came and gave the Headmaster a rather stern look.

 

“I would appreciate it if my patients could come to me, next time they get into a scuffle,” she huffed.

 

She fixed Harry's scratches and his glasses. She made sure everyone was all right and all their parts still attached before turning on Harry rather smartly.

 

“Quidditch is a poor sport to be practicing this time of year,” she said, “you've got the start of a nasty cold, Potter. Report to me tomorrow morning, I'll have some pepper up ready. And you as well, Ginny. You're looking rather peaky.”

 

With that parting advice, she left for her hospital wing.

 

“Ah,” said the Headmaster, “now that the formalities are over, I believe we need a place to sit.”

 

The Headmaster tapped his wand against the ornate fire place and a dining table with red chairs that had elaborately carved gold lions decorating them popped into existence, the dining table that followed looked much the same. The curtains covering the window as the weather raged outdoors were also red. The room was filled with paintings but unlike the majority of Hogwarts, these were still life filled with fruits, vegetables a funny looking face made of various fish. It grinned at Harry and he scowled back.

 

“Headmaster,” a House Elf squeaked as it popped onto the table, “what may old Crunky do for himself and his guests?”

 

“Crunky,” the Headmaster said kindly, “I required a hot spread to beat back the fall chill. Hot cider shall be first along with any roast vittles with fortifying herbs. What shall we have for dessert? Ah, a perilous question. Perhaps our young charges can answer for us.”

 

“Chocolate, please,” Neville said, his eyes growing bright.

 

“Treacle tart,” Harry snapped, his eyes were firmly on the window and the rain lashing the panes.

 

“I'd like a hot caramel bread pudding, thank-you,” Ginny said.

 

“All very attainable,” the Headmaster said with a smile, “Hagrid, would you like something more robust to go with our meal?”

 

“Thank-you kindly, Headmaster,” Hagrid said, “a hot butterbeer would be a treat.”

 

“Excellent,” the Headmaster said, “off you go, Crunky.”

 

Crunky bowed so low, her nose almost scraped the table.

 

“Yes, Headmaster,” she said, then vanished in a crack and a puff of smoke.

 

“Now,” the Headmaster said, “before our excellent dinner arrives, let us discuss the scene we have witnessed outdoors.”

 

“I want to find Theodore,” Harry said, his voice rising in panic and volume in turn, “he's not going to make it out there! Not in this cold!”

 

“Theodore is a rather excellent survival camper,” the Headmaster said patiently, “he is much safer there than receiving the unkind attentions of the aurors and out of harms way. I promise you, Harry, that the forbidden forest is significantly safer than the perilous woods he's used to.”

 

“I don't care what you think!” Harry shouted.

 

“Harry!” Neville said, “That's rude!”

 

“Shut up!” he shrieked, then he clamped his hand over his mouth and his face turned red.

 

“Oh no,” Neville said, going rather pale.

 

Ginny put her hands over her ears just as Neville put his fingers in his. The Headmaster calmly waited for what he knew was about to occur.

 

Harry dropped pitifully to his knees and began wailing at an alarming volume, his hands tangled in his messy hair, his sobs shaking his small body miserably.

 

“What's he on about?” Hagrid said, his voice barely noticed above the din, “isn't anyone going to help?”

 

“Mrs. Potter usually just lets him go,” Neville said, loud enough for Hagrid to hear, “nothing's going to stop him, she's tried everything for ages. He just keeps going until he's done.”

 

Hagrid rifled in the tatty sack that usually hung loosely around his waist and finally found what he was looking for, an enormous yellow and black scarf. Though a bit worn, it was gigantic enough to surround two boys handily. He quickly made his way over to Harry, slipped the silver and green one from his shoulder and then wrapped the gigantic yellow scarf around him until his howls were muffled. Then he gave Harry a rather tight squeeze.

 

“Yer all right now,” Hagrid said, “and so's Theodore, so don't ye worry about 'im.”

 

The din suddenly quieted, Harry blinked and looked up in surprise, large tears dropping from his nose.

 

Hagrid offered a watery smile, he was obviously touched by Harry's distress. The Headmaster's eyes twinkled and his smile grew.

 

After Hagrid let Harry go he said, “Think he was just a bit cold. I gave Theodore one twice as thick just the other day and I'm sure he's using it in whatever hide away he's made for 'imself. He's a right clever littlun, a bit of wind and rain won't stop him. Come and sit down and ye can have yer treacle after dinner.”

 

Neville and Ginny glanced at one another as though Hagrid had performed nothing short of a miracle. It would have perhaps been less shocking if Hagrid had made the table and chairs tap dance around the room without using a wand.

 

Gently, Hagrid guided Harry to one of the red seats. Harry sat down, sniffling behind the over large scarf, his whole face almost covered by two large yellow stripes. The scarf dangled almost to the floor but he wrapped it tighter around himself and sneezed. Perhaps Harry had been a lot colder than he thought. Everyone else sat down and arranged themselves comfortably in their chairs.

 

“Before our no doubt very excellent food arrives,” the Headmaster said, “I have a few matters I would like to address.”

 

The Headmaster steepled his fingers together and looked thoughtful for some moments before continuing.

 

“There have been matters these past few weeks that I would like elucidated. I believe that Mr. Longbottom should go first as Mr. Potter is in no state to have a conversation until he's sufficiently warmed. May I ask you then, Neville, why you sent a letter to the aurors to try and get Theodore into trouble?”

 

“I thought,” Neville said, looking very nervous, “it was the right thing to do. Call the aurors, I mean, after I read Harry's letter. It seemed so at the time but now I'm not so sure.”

 

The Headmaster appeared rather sad, “I wish sorely Neville, that things were so simple. Not all aurors are like Mr. Potter and while it might have been wise to seek his council exclusively in the past, he is unaware of the many nuances happening at Hogwarts. By that same logic, many aurors are not so fond of Mr. Potter and would see harm to come to him. And even to yourself, for you see his very presence in the department has it split in two between those who feel more loyal to death eaters and those who are more sympathetic towards muggles.”

 

“Oh,” Neville said, dismayed.

 

“Indeed,” the Headmaster said, “Theodore is a very complicated subject but I can promise you, he would never do anything terrible on his own without significant stress behind it. What he does for his father any young child would do for his family and there are far reaching consequences that cause more problems for Theodore's future than his irascible father at this very moment.”

 

“He didn't open the Chamber,” Harry said, muffled from behind his scarf.

 

“And that is the next matter of inquiry,” the Headmaster said, “who precisely did.”

 

Harry pulled down a bit of scarf.

 

“I opened it,” Harry said, his voice trembling, “but I didn't mean it.”

 

Hagrid let out a rather loud gasp.

 

“You did not!” he said.

 

“It wasn't me!” Harry insisted, “not really. It was Tom Riddle from the diary.”

 

Hagrid took on a rather blustered, stormy look at the mention of the name.

 

“As I had feared,” the Headmaster said, “and what has happened to this diary?”

 

“Theodore and I,” Harry said, “we burned it in one of the abandoned classrooms on the third floor. I think it might have killed him, Tom Riddle that is. The book exploded and I haven't felt strange since.”

 

The Headmaster looked very thoughtful, then he came to a decision.

 

“We shall investigate the classroom tonight, I'll retrieve Professor Snape,” the Headmaster said, “I sincerely doubt a mere fire could have destroyed that book but there are unpredictable elements. The fact Harry has spoken freely on the matter, is a good sign, I must ask you, Harry, that if you feel at all different or strange at any time you report directly to my office. In consideration of other student's safety I must also assign you a ghost to watch over any hallway activities. I know it may be discomfiting but it will only be for a short time, until the existence of the diary is confirmed or denied. It is not a confirmation concerning any guilt on your part, merely, a precaution. May I ask you, Harry, where the Chamber of Secrets is?”

 

“I don't know,” Harry said, “I can't remember much, it was all so strange. I think there was a lot of water and snakes. And I woke up in Myrtle's bathroom with no memory at all.”

 

The gloom hanging heavy in his head wouldn't let him see more than that.

 

“It is at least, a place to start. I will have to make a statement however, in public, that the matter is closed. Without a true culprit I believe that particular group of aurors will be rather enthusiastic in pursuing Theodore and unhappy if no culprit is physically caught. As you see Neville, they would be quite happy at the slightest provocation to cart a young boy off to Azkaban who hadn't done anything wrong and unfortunately, the Minister of Magic is in a position where he would need to support them no matter how erroneous their conclusion might be. ”

 

Hagrid looked disturbed by the news.

 

“We ought to get Theodore out of there on the 'morrow,” he said, “rain or otherwise.”

 

“What about Ron?” Ginny said.

 

“I know jus' where he got himself to,” Hagrid said, “he must have fled the castles with the other spiders when _you know what_ began, couldn't have helped it. We can get him tomorrow while lookin' for Theo out in the bushes.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, meekly.

 

“It wasn't your fault!” Hagrid said, loudly, rattling the table, “That Tom Riddle hoodwinks anyone he can get, an awful lot of grown wizards were taken in by him. Wizards far beyond a second-year, Slytherin or not!”

 

“That will be fine enough, Hagrid,” the Headmaster said, kindly, “and now I believe the final matter has come to pass. Miss Weasley-”

 

She let out a startled squeak, “yes, sir?”

 

“Considering your family and your current sorting I must ask you for a very great favor. Do not feel at all that any request I make of you is an absolute, you may turn away from it at any time, with no hard feelings between us. But I would like you to give some consideration to what I propose,” the Headmaster began, “you are a pure-blood. And though certain individuals in Slytherin house would sooner argue that you are a blood traitor before a witch, it still gives you a rather marked power. I should argue in the years to come that your position could benefit a great many witches and wizards in Slytherin house who are much more sympathetic towards muggles than against them. For in Slytherin house, it is the strength of the many that is put before the strength of the few. Will you consider becoming an ambassador of sorts, towards that goodwill? I would also prefer it if, in service to that same goodwill you would tell me should anything dreadful be whispered between prefects or in the halls between students that you would report to me before anything terrible should ever happen to anyone, wizard or witch, inside Hogwarts or out. And that if cruelty towards muggles or muggleborn should become more than foul rumours and jokes in poor taste, you would be the first to come to me concerning it.”

 

Ginny looked down at the table and considered for several long moments.

 

“I think so, sir,” Ginny said, “but one thing. Is there any way I could tell my parents about what I'm doing? They were rather worried when I was sorted, they weren't sure what to think.”

 

“I'm afraid it would have to stay between us,” the Headmaster said, “as we've seen today, a great deal of damage can be done when rumours are followed through without the whole story.”

 

Neville flushed a deep red and sunk miserably into his chair.

 

“I still agree, sir,” Ginny said.

 

She seemed a little troubled but glanced up at Harry, who was still buried in Hagrid's scarf, and smiled hesitantly. Harry glared back, he was still in a rather foul mood no matter how warmed up he was.

 

“Ah,” the Headmaster said, “it seems our drinks have arrived.”

 

Steaming goblets of apple cider popped into existence along with their place settings and crusty rolls that smelled inviting under hot cloth in baskets. Everyone began buttering bread and drinking their warmed drinks. The Headmaster seemed rather pleased but Harry wasn't, it seemed to him that not much was accomplished, only a lot of talk. But it was clear there would be no exodus into the woods tonight and Harry would have to hold his tongue and wait until tomorrow to see Theodore again.

 

After their enormous dinner and suffering the company of Neville, Harry was quite ready to return to his own house.

 

“Would you mind accompanying Miss Weasley to her common room?” the Headmaster had asked Harry, eyes twinkling.

 

“All right,” Harry had said, reluctantly.

 

They had walked far from Gryffindor tower, almost to the dungeon in utter silence until Ginny finally worked up enough courage to say anything at all.

 

“Were you surprised,” Ginny said, “when I was sorted.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “you don't seem like the type.”

 

“What do you mean by that?” Ginny said, a bit sharply.

 

“I mean,” Harry said, “you're not, well, anything like Pansy or Milli. Or Daphne.”

 

Ginny stopped in the hallway.

 

“Come on,” Harry griped, “it's almost bed check!”

 

Ginny stammered, “Ron had Neville and Fred and George have each other and my older brothers are doing things the way they want to and I didn't have anything at all to call my own and I just- wanted to be different. So I got sorted in Slytherin.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “that's all right then.”

 

It wasn't as if her sorting had meant anything to him but Ginny seemed cheered up by what he had said.

 

“I'm not so sure,” Ginny said, “but it's the way things are isn't it? We both surprised people.”

 

“I suppose,” Harry said.

 

In the common room, Ginny was quickly herded away from Harry by Emmaline who had gathered a few second and first year girls to play wizarding chess. Harry dismally sat on a couch by the fire. Usually, Draco Malfoy was busy bragging about whatever nonsense his mother had gotten him in the same spot but he was elsewhere and Harry didn't care either way because he would have dueled to the death over the one warm spot in the common room.

 

Millicent came over to the couch and flopped down next to him.

 

“That was awfully nice of you,” Millicent said, flushing, “to get me into quidditch practice. It's really helped.”

 

“Everyone knows you'd be the best beater on the team,” Harry mumbled, he shivered a bit harder with ever passing second.

 

Slytherin common room really wasn't the best place to warm up when it was this close to winter.

 

“Don't worry about Theodore,” Millicent said, “it wasn't your fault. That was dreadful of Neville.”

 

“How'd you hear about that?” Harry asked.

 

“It was all over the school after that scene at dinner. Anyway, there's nothing to worry about. We once got lost in the woods,” Millicent said, “Theodore knew what to do, it was brilliant. We were only seven but he made us a shelter and found water and food and everything. It took my Mum three days to find us, nearly drove Dad spare from worry. And that's a dangerous forest to grown wizards.”

 

“Hello, Millicent,” Ginny said.

 

“Sit down next to him,” Millicent suggested, “Harry's still freezing. Between the two of us he might warm up a bit.”

 

Ginny turned red as her hair but she sat down on the other side of Harry.

 

“I'd rather be outdoors,” Harry said, “freezing or not.”

 

“I never knew you played chess,” Millicent said.

 

“Wizarding chess is boring when you have a brother who plays,” Ginny said, smiling a little, “Theodore is going to be okay, Harry. And so is Ron, Hagrid and the Headmaster said so and they'd know what they were talking about.”

 

Her proclamations did little to provide Harry any comfort but at least someone thought everything was going to be all right because Harry didn't have it in him at all.

 

That night while Harry slept in his bed in the second-year dorms he had strange nightmares. He dreamed about Tom Riddle leaving the ashes of the book and creeping around the school. Harry stumbled after him, out of breath and delirious, as though he were under a spell.

 

“You didn't think a little fire could destroy me, did you?”

 

A high pitched laugh came from his throat and his eyes turned blood red and slitted like a snake.

 

In his bed Harry writhed and sweated and breathed harshly as he saw in his dreams a lean-to made from a yellow and black, extraordinary sized Hufflepuff scarf.

 

“Who's there?” Theodore called out in the dream.

 

“Just me,” Harry dream spoke, “come on, let's go back to the castle!”

 

But the dream twisted, writhed and changed into something dreadful. Harry felt an enormous, reptile body slide passed him and he knew suddenly, exactly what it was. During the summer Theodore and Harry had read all about it in a book that remained on the shelf in the gloomy Bergedwyld castle library. It was a basilisk. An ancient monster that killed whatever it looked at.

 

And in the awful dream, it was headed straight for Theodore's forest shelter.

 

 

 


	18. Bad Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a crazy last two months, sorry for the long wait. There are two chapters after this one before the end of second year. Exciting! Sorry for any editing mistakes...I'm working on my own still. Thank-you for your patience.

 

**Bad Faith**

 

It was the night before Halloween and the weather had finally dried up but the great puddles and mud flats along Hogwarts grounds had begun to freeze into icy, small lakes. Great icicles covered everything by the first light of dawn and the great hall had to be heated up rather frantically on short notice by the house elves. Even with magic, a gigantic stone building took some time to warm up and the morning was exceptionally cold in the dungeons.

 

“Morning Potter!” said Flint, rather excitedly, “If you're up for it, we should have another game of quidditch.”

 

Harry sat down next to Millicent Bulstrode and sneezed mightily, sending some cloth napkins scattering.

 

“Or not,” Flint said, “you're looking a bit peaky.”

 

Considering the late night and frozen weather, Harry had shamelessly wrapped Hagrid's gigantic scarf around his neck to try and fend off the blistering cold.

 

“Are you all right to go?” Ginny had called to him from down the table.

 

Harry nodded back and then sneezed with such force he nearly hit his head on the table.

 

“Keep your germs to yourself,” Pansy Parkinson said nastily, holding her porridge bowl close to her chest.

 

Harry sorely wished he'd put extra blankets on his bed as his feet had felt cold all night. He could also vaguely remember a rather unpleasant spate of dreams but they shimmered and faded when he thought about them too much.

 

The Bloody Baron hovered near Harry's seat, making him even colder.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” the Baron intoned, puffing a deathly chill from his cold vaporous form.

 

“Do you mind,” Millicent said sharply, “Harry has a cold. Better skiv off class today.”

 

“After we find Ron and Theodore,” Harry said, as he pulled down his scarf, “Headmaster Dumbledore said I could go, are you coming Mr. Baron?.”

 

“I will not be going with any of you,” the Baron said, “since there will be other teachers present my services are not required.”

 

The baron floated away and no one seemed particularly sorry to see him go, especially not Ginny.

 

“I don't know how anyone can sit in a class knowing a chain rattling ghost is waiting for them afterward,” Ginny said, “maybe Harry should stay by the fire and try to get warm.”

 

“Headmaster Dumbledore said I could go,” Harry said, reminding them all for the second time.

 

“That was before you looked like death warmed up,” Millicent said, “you're pale as the Baron.”

 

“I am not,” Harry said sullenly, then sneezed again.

 

“Bless you,” Millicent said, “I bet you've got quite the plague brewing.”

 

“Lovely,” Harry said, his nose mercifully remained phlegm free for the moment.

 

After they had their breakfast, Millicent went towards her classes while Ginny followed Harry and gathered their thick boots, woolen mittens, hats and another scarf. Harry was wearing a rather massive, black furry hat under his Hogwarts hat with a warming charm. It wasn't really helping.

 

“Trying to outdo Theodore?” Draco called nastily, as Harry walked by.

 

“Sod off!” Harry snapped, then sneezed so hard he knocked his hat askew.

 

Blaise, Pansy and Tracey were all laughing at him. Even Goyle laughed dully along, but Crabbe looked staunchly silent. As if he were too thick to find something like that amusing.

 

“It's not funny!” Ginny shouted, “Come on, the sooner we get this over with the sooner you'll get to Pompfrey. I can take care of Ron for a while if you're not well enough.”

 

“It's only a cold,” Harry said, sullenly.

 

“Are they always like that,” Ginny asked quietly, as they made their way back upstairs, “making fun of you all the time?”

 

“That's just what Malfoy's like,” Harry said, “I'm not the most popular person in Slytherin because-”

 

“Oh right,” Ginny said, “your Dad. But mine is just the same and they never say anything about it.”

 

_It's because your friends with Blaise_ , Harry wanted to snap back but he decided not to.

 

She'd find out soon enough how friendly Slytherin was when Blaise abandoned her for the next firstie that caught his interest.

 

Harry had nothing to say after that so he stayed silent, besides sneezing every few steps until they walked all the way to Hagrid's hut. By the time they got there, Harry was shivering and shaking in the cold and too miserable to notice his glasses fogging up.

 

“There ye are!” Hagrid said cheerfully.

 

Then he got a good look at Harry.

 

“What are ye doing out here!” Hagrid boomed, “Ye should be resting indoors! That's a whopper of a cold yer brewin'!”

 

“I'm ok,” Harry insisted, “I want to find Theodore then I'll go back.”

 

Hagrid shrugged, “if ye think you'll be all right. But as soon as we're done you're warming up in the hut and then off to Pompfrey's.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, glumly.

 

The sound of crunchy frost and leaves tumbling alerted them to another addition to their number.

 

“Wait for me!” Hermione said, bounding out of the bushes.

 

“Hermione,” Hagrid said, “I'm surprised to see ye, skipping classes and everything.”

 

“I'm not technically skipping,” Hermione said, nose in the air, “I have permission because I happen to run across the Headmaster and Neville.”

 

Behind her came Neville a bit out of breath.

 

“Not him!” Harry cried, “He's half the reason Theodore's in this mess!”

 

“Shush!” Ginny snapped, “I don't care! He's my brother's friend and we're going to find him together, whether you like it or not. So come with us and stay quiet, or go back to Hogwarts!”

 

Harry gaped at her, she sounded remarkably like his Mum when she was cross.

 

“That shut him up,” Neville said, surprised.

 

Hermione even had the gall to giggle a little behind her hand. Harry snapped his mouth shut and glared at the ground, he wasn't going to cry even if he wanted to.

 

“Well ye can all come,” Hagrid said, “but it won't be too excitin'. I know exactly where everybody is so it's not much of an adventure.”

 

None the less, the five of them and Fang the dog set off into the forest in a row to find the two unfortunate missing boys. Harry regretted it almost instantly as the forest lacked wind but it made up for it in dampness. He felt cold to the bone and shivery and slightly nauseous for reasons he couldn't explain.

 

Neville bumped into him.

 

“Are you ok?” Neville said, “You're looking awfully peaky.”

 

“I'm fine,” Harry said, flatly.

 

No matter how he felt, he wouldn't turn away and let Neville be braver than him. They pressed on, Hermione walking beside Harry and chatting with Ginny. Or attempting to, Hermione could be difficult to talk to sometimes since all she wanted to talk about were classes. Ginny was no slouch but she certainly had other interests than memorizing _Hogwarts: A History_ by heart.

 

“And I thought it was every so helpful that Professor Flitwick offered us extra charms credit just at the same time I was worrying about being top of the year,” Hermione said.

 

Ginny had the look of the pained trying to be nice, despite the desire to be anywhere else in the world.

 

“I wouldn't be surprised if you did get top of your year again,” Ginny said, “I'm having a hard time thinking of another student who could be.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, “Harry could, if he played quidditch less. Theodore as well, he's very clever.”

 

That got Ginny's attention rather quickly.

 

“What's Theodore like,” Ginny said, then she tried to whisper quietly but Harry still heard her, “to someone that isn't like Draco Malfoy?”

 

“Oh he's nice enough,” Hermione said, “if a bit sneaky. I think all the rot he says is half for show and the other half because he knows he can get away with it. He's all right once you get to know him but he'll do anything for a laugh and that can be quite frightening.”

 

“He called you a you-know-what,” Ginny said, tightly.

 

“I know,” Hermione said, “but he also took the bite from a Venemous Tentacula so I wouldn't have to and those can kill a grown wizard rather quickly. Lucky for both of us it was a spring baby.”

 

“Oh,” Ginny said, “I never thought-”

 

“He's a nice boy,” Hermione said, with a lopsided, toothy smile, “when he wants to be, no matter the rubbish he spews when he's angry.”

 

It was a sad fact, Harry thought, that smiling made Hermione Granger look so homely. But perhaps it worked out well for him especially since she was so clever, Theodore and Harry were practically the only friends she had. Terry Boot didn't much count as he spent as much time ignoring her as talking with her and only when he thought he could get better marks because of it. Neville and Ron wouldn't hold her attention, Harry was quite confident, being hardly intelligent people. She wouldn't go running off with them, he was quite sure.

 

“Almost there!” Hagrid called, “Now, everyone line up carefully near me and Fang and it ought to be all right.”

 

The forest had darkened and grown quite thick with woods and webs, Harry noted. They must have been heading into an acromantula nest.

 

“I didn't know acromantulas lived in the Forbidden Forest,” Harry said excitedly, “is it just one or a whole colony?”

 

“Well,” Hagrid said, clearing his throat a bit, “I had to leave him alone in a hurry as a youngin' so I got 'im a wife to keep him company. It wouldn't have been fair otherwise.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, nearly breathless with excitement.

 

“Hagrid,” Hermione said, hesitantly, “are we really going into an acromantula colony?”

 

“A whole colony!” Neville shouted.

 

“Ah, yes,” Hagrid said, harrumphing, “Aragog never hurt no one-”

 

“That he knows about,” Harry muttered.

 

“-and Ron should be right in there with the rest.”

 

“I can't imagine why Ron would run towards spiders” Ginny asked, “he's terrified of them!”

 

“It's a bit of a long story,” Hagrid said, obviously with no intention of telling them why, “we're almost here. Everyone mind yer footing and stay close to me an' Fang.”

 

The four children stuck together all in a clump and stepped carefully towards the gigantic tree trunk surrounded by thick webbing. It smelled funny, almost astringent, Harry's nose wrinkled from the smell.

 

“Oi!” Hagrid boomed, “Aragog! Are ye home?”

 

“Yesss Hagrid,” a low soft voice hissed from the trunk.

 

“Hallo,” Hagrid said cheerfully, “yer lookin' right healthy after that tonic I gave ye last week.”

 

“I feel much better, thank-you,” Aragog said.

 

Between Ginny and Neville, Harry was likely to lose both his arms from how hard he was gripped. He wanted to move a little closer but was squashed, it wasn't everyday a wizard saw a gigantic, huge hairy spider. Aragog's legs alone were like huge tree trunks extending out of his great furry stomach. Ginny made a squeaking noise and pointed to Aragogs head. Harry looked up and sure enough, a small bit of red fluff was clinging desperately to the side of Aragog's enormous cephalothorax .

 

“Er,” Hagrid said, spotting the bit of fluff, “I think ye got something stuck on yer head. Let me help ye with that.”

 

“Ah,” said Aragog, “I wondered. I thought it was a large muskrat I had forgotten to eat. But it seemed to shriek rather loudly when I touched it, rather like a child would.”

 

Ginny and Harry looked at one another worriedly. It was quite possible that Ron had turned into a boy for only a brief moment and then had frightened himself so badly he had become a spider again rather than face a whole nest of acromantulas by himself.

 

“I got 'im,” Hagrid said, more to the children than anyone else, “bet your head feels better after that.”

 

Aragog used one hairy leg to tap the top of his head.

 

“Much better,” Aragog said, “it was becoming quite itchy.”

 

Many smaller spiders began slowly creeping down the trees and crowding the children and Hagrid until the whole glen was nearly full of them. Neville was distinctly trembling and making terrified noises, Ginny was half covering her face with her hands.

 

“I think that'll be all Aragog, you need anything you know how to reach me,” Hagrid said.

 

“Ah,” Aragog said, “there is one matter. There are many small spiders that have flooded the glen since the- _incidences_ at Hogwarts. It has made my children rather excitable. I cannot account for the safety of any wandering students should my children become hungry.”

 

“I understand what yer sayin'” Hagrid said, “I'll let the Headmaster know that ye can't keep track of 'em all the time. He'll understand.”

 

Aragog rubbed his two gigantic feet together gleefully, “thank-you Hagrid.”

 

It didn't seem like much of a warning to Harry, more an allowance for lunch. As fast as they could manage, the four children clamoured out of the glen and burst out from the webbed area of the forest with energetic aplomb.

 

“That was mental!” Neville hissed, a quaking Ron in his hands, “are you all right, Ron?”

 

“I think he's traumatized,” Ginny said, prodding him gently, “he's barely moving.”

 

“When he's being fed he'll warm up,” Hermione said, “that's what the handbook said.”

 

“You read the whole thing?” Neville asked, surprised.

 

“So did I,” Harry said.

 

“I'm not surprised you did,” Neville said, “thanks. I'm sure Ron would say the same if he could.”

 

Hermione blushed, “it was only so I could be a help to Harry.”

 

“Where's Theodore supposed to be?” Harry asked Hagrid.

 

“Oh he's not much further from here,” Hagrid said, “smart enough to stay away from the spiders but not so far away he'd be lost.”

 

Harry's nose was finally starting to run and he was sure he'd have an icicle by the time their trip was done. It was a little worrying how cold it was- did Theodore really know how to keep himself warm?

 

“Over here!” Hagrid called the lot of them.

 

In the middle of a glen, Harry could see the black and yellow striped Hufflepuff scarf wound rather elaborately over a small lean-to structure made of twigs and dead brush.

 

“That's not right,” Hagrid said leaning into the hut, “he was here not long ago. Where'd he go?”

 

“Run off back to his Dad,” Neville mumbled.

 

“I sincerely doubt it,” Hermione snapped, saving Harry the trouble.

 

Harry wasn't feeling very well, he was beginning to weave a bit on his feet and felt the bite of the cold more keenly with every moment. The children wandered around the camp site and everyone expected Theodore to pop out at any moment and surprise them. Harry wandered a bit in the cold and prodded the trampled vegetation with his boot. He looked down and noticed moss all ripped up from the roots of trees in a twisting path. He followed it, faster and faster until he found Theodore's purple hat crumpled on the ground.

 

“Hagrid!” Harry shouted, then spent a good few minutes coughing as everyone piled around.

 

“That's Theodore's all right,” Hermione said, “no one else would wear something that dreadful.”

 

To the right of the hat, Harry noticed the same torn up moss again. It must have been from Theodore's boots trampling the cold ground. They had uprooted the plants and caused them to scatter behind each step. Harry quickly followed the path as the other children scrambled to keep up and Hagrid loped behind them, watching out for any creatures magical or otherwise.

 

There was a small group of very large logs in the center of a clearing. Harry timidly stepped out into it and looked around. At night it would have been easy to see the stars, something Harry thought Theodore might have liked. Staring up at the grim, gray sky Harry almost missed the strange gray lump by a big log.

 

“Hagrid,” Harry said, his voice raising as he realized what he was looking at, “Hagrid!”

 

Ginny stumbled into the clearing, gasped and covered her face with her hands, Hermione let out a small scream when she arrived too. And Neville stopped in his tracks and stared, open mouthed at the sight. Theodore Nott's body was on its side and his arms twisted wildly around as though he had been fighting something. His right hand was holding a rather large, rotten looking book. His gray boots were mud covered and his cloak looked stiff from ice water.

 

“Is he,” Harry said, his lip trembling.

 

With a grim determination, Hagrid gently prodded the prone body of Theodore Nott.

 

“He's petrified,” Hagrid said, visibly relieved, “and frozen stiff from the rain and the cold. I'll have to get help to thaw him out before I can move 'im.”

 

Neville and Ginny stared at Harry, who shook his head. He had no recollection of doing it and the Baron had been following him ever since to be sure he wasn't being manipulated. Harry leaned over Theodore and noticed the expression on his face was very frightened. He must have seen something truly horrible right before...

 

“Not much we can do,” Hagrid said carefully, “we'll get back to the castle and get some teachers out here to help Theodore out.”

 

“I want to wait with him,” Harry said, then sneezed.

 

“Harry's sick,” Ginny blurted, “very very sick. He shouldn't have come out with us in the first place but he's been sneezing all morning, even Millicent noticed-”

 

“Ginny!” Harry shouted.

 

“Well it's true,” she snapped.

 

“It's not as if we can help Theodore,” Hermione said, looking rather downcast, “I suppose we should all head back.”

 

Harry felt a temper brewing and surely would have exploded if he hadn't begun feeling particularly ill that very moment. He ended up sicking up behind a log and hoping no one would accidentally step in it when they came to get Theodore.

 

“I told you,” Ginny said to him, as they trudged their way back to Hogwarts.

 

“He wasn't your friend,” Harry snarled, “was he? Of course I went.”

 

“He's going to be all right,” Hermione said, reasonably, “they'll be chopping up the mandrakes after Christmas and then they'll get everyone moving again.”

 

Hagrid spent some time talking to Filch at the gates as they wandered inside. Harry felt better already in the warmth and dryness.

 

“You're shivering,” Hermione said, “and look very unwell. We should go to the hospital wing right now.”

 

Harry sat heavily on a bench and nearly slumped over.

 

“I'll help,” Hagrid said, “you get back to classes Hermione, I'll make sure Harry here gets where he ought to be.”

 

“Thank-you Hagrid,” she said, “and thank-you for looking after Theodore. I'm sure he's sorry you had to find him like that.”

 

Hagrid sniffed a bit, “you're a good girl Hermione. Off ye go.”

 

It was the second time in the year Harry was half hauled up to the hospital wing by Hagrid but this time they met Millicent on the way.

 

“Harry looks worse than this morning,” she pronounced scurrying after them, “Is it true that they found Theodore?”

 

“They'll be bringing him up soon,” Hagrid said, “don't you worry Milli he's in good hands.”

 

When they arrived, Madame Pompfrey took one look at Harry and ordered him to put on some pajamas.

 

“I can already say that you'll be staying here tonight at the least,” Madame Pompfrey said, firmly.

 

She cast a few spells on him but Harry was entirely distracted by the Professors bringing in Theodore Nott's petrified body to notice which one, until she let out a hideous gasp.

 

“Potter!” she shouted.

 

Harry snapped to attention.

 

“Can you sit straight at all? Has your balance gone badly?” Madame Pompfrey's clipped voice only appeared when she was particularly worried.

 

“He had trouble getting up here,” Millicent said, “Hagrid carried him partway.”

 

Harry glared at her, some friend she was.

 

The other children suddenly poured in much to Madame Pompfrey's irritation. Neville was carrying a still terrified Ron who needed a check up and Ginny was there for support. Hermione came in waving a piece of paper.

 

“Theodore was holding it,” she offered breathlessly, “I thought it might be important.”

 

She went over to Theodore's bedside almost immediately, looking worried.

 

“He'll be fine,” Madame Pompfrey snapped, she turned her attention to Harry and seemed much more worried about him.

 

Millicent huffed, “probably all that rainy day quidditch that got him into trouble.”

 

“Quidditch!” Madame Pompfrey shouted, “You've been playing in that dreadful weather! It's no wonder! How could you have let him go outdoors today, Hagrid!”

 

Hagrid looked like he was going to cry, “I thought he had the start of a bit of a cold and he was worryin' about his friens' so I though it best to take him so he'd get some rest after-”

 

“It's not a cold,” Madame Pompfrey said, though her sharpness had dulled after Hagrid's tearful admittance, “it's pneumonia. There's fluid in his lungs.”

 

“Oh dear,” Hermione said, faintly from beside Theodore's prone form.

 

“I suppose they must have it in the muggle world,” Madame Pompfrey said, “so I don't have to explain it to any of you. It's very severe, he'll be on bed rest for the next three days at least. If it gets any worse I'll have him moved to St. Mungo's.”

 

Perhaps Harry would have protested but he began to feel quite a bit worse, a great deal more dreadful. More awful than he'd ever felt in his life. The room was spinning and his chest felt heavy and he began to take in great gulps of air.

 

“To bed,” Madame Pompfrey attested, “and the rest of you, if you're not holding a ginger haired spider, off with you! If you wish, you may visit Harry tomorrow afternoon but not before!”

 

The students had begun to file out but Harry grabbed Hermione and shoved a book into her hands.

 

“Can you please translate this,” Harry managed to weaze out, “I think it's important for _you know what_.”

 

“Of course!” Hermione said.

 

“I'll keep Ron,” Ginny said, “don't worry at all about it, Harry. Just focus on feeling better.”

 

Hermione found it rather alarming to watch Harry grow paler by the moment and nod his head strangely as it seemed the pneumonia was affecting his balance. They were ushered out and Madame Pompfrey began the arduous task of making Harry take a great many disgusting tasting potions. Each one causing a more sour look on his face than the last.

 

With the vision of poor Theodore contorted so terribly on the infirmary bed while clutching a musty old book they couldn’t get out of his hands, Hermione left the hospital wing feeling quite unsure. The paper she had rushed to the hospital wing had only said two words on it.

 

_Bathroom_ and _Chamber_

 

She wasn't sure what it meant but she hoped the Headmaster would, or one of the Professors.

 

“They're both going to be all right, aren't they?” she asked Millicent.

 

“Oh, sure,” Millicent said, “best place for Theodore, really. And at least he doesn't have to spend Christmas in that rotten old house. Harry will be all right after some potions and rest. Only people who are very old or very sick already die from that kind of thing. In the wizarding world, people can die from even dragon pox if they're a hundred and one and the like.”

 

Hermione hadn't a clue what dragon pox was but she assumed it was no worse than muggle chicken pox and not something to fret too much about.

 

“He was sick an awful lot,” Ginny said, in a timid voice, “when he was little. I remember Mum comforting Mrs. Potter sometimes. They thought-”

 

Ginny took in a great gulp of air as the stairway moved them to the side.

 

“He won't,” Neville said firmly, “I mean, he can't. They wouldn't let that happen here.”

 

Millicent gave Neville an incredulous look.

 

“How thick are you? It's Hogwarts,” Millicent said, “it's a school like any other, or do you just ignore all of those plaques on the walls about which chidren died when or-”

 

“Oh stop it,” Hermione snapped, “all of you! I won't hear it, he's just- he's in the hospital wing right now, isn't he? If he gets worse, they'll get someone else to help him. He'll be fine, if a bit cross that he won't be allowed to play quidditch again anytime soon.”

 

“Malfoy will be so disappointed,” Millicent said, flatly, “wish I could smash his pointy face in for dragging Potter out in the weather.”

 

No one had anything nice to say about Draco Malfoy at all, so they were all in firm agreement with Millicent.

 

When they made it to the second floor, the other children continued onwards towards the dungeons and Neville went on to find Percy Weasley to tell him that Ronald had been found and was doing all right, considering. No one else particularly wanted to do the job and left him to it. Hermione Granger went up towards Ravenclaw tower and hesitated. She knew the unfriendly faces of Mariette Edgecombe and Cho Chang would be waiting for her, along with Terry Boot who would probably have something awful to say about Harry being in hospital. She turned around and instead headed for the library.

 

She spent several hours sitting alone at a table with no one to talk to besides the gray lady, a ghost who wasn't much for conversation. There was no study group with Theodore and Harry both incapacitated and Millicent and Ginny were no doubt busy discussing quidditch in the Slytherin common room, something Hermione couldn't possibly work up an interest in no matter how hard she tried.

 

Heaving a great sigh, she rifled in her bag for the book Harry had given her and opened it up. She jumped as something soft and slithery shimmied out.

 

“What's this?” she said, reaching under the table to pick it up.

 

It looked like a very large, shimmery cloak. A piece of paper had been dropped nearby, probably shaken loose when she opened the book.

 

_Hermione,_

 

_This is Dad's invisibility cloak. Use it to find the tapestry in the common room._

 

_Harry._

 

There was a long list also scrawled on the back of the paper. Phrases like, _parental responsibility to disclose nasty Hufflepuff spies_ were crossed through and _ask Theodore more about basilisks_ was circled several times. Apparently Harry had been keeping tallies and notes, on what Hermione couldn't quite say since his letter writing skills were a notch above dreadful. Hermione tucked the cloak away in her bag and none too soon because the familiar tapping of wizarding boots along the stone floor made her jump.

 

“What are you doing here,” Malfoy said imperiously, “all alone, Granger?”

 

With dismay Hermione realized it was possibly her least favourite person come to visit.

 

“I was in the hospital wing,” she said, trying not to grit her teeth too hard, “because Harry is very ill and Theodore petrified.”

 

The silence she heard from across the table was deafening. Malfoy's face took on a sour, pinched look, as though he had just smelled something disgusting.

 

“Harry's ill,” Malfoy said, “how ill.”

 

“Pneumonia,” Hermione said.   
  
“Oh,” Malfoy said, face returning to its normal haughtiness, “is that all.”

 

“It's a very serious disease,” Hermione said affronted, “there can be complications!”

 

“Perhaps medicine is a bit primitive where you're from,” Malfoy said with visible distaste, “but no wizard dies of that unless there are other problems. And it's no surprise about Theodore, I'm surprised he wasn't hauled away by the aurors. He may be brilliant but he doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut. What's that you have there, Granger?”

 

“Nothing!” Hermione said, angrily.

 

Malfoy tried to grab the book out of her hands but she held on fast. They tilted this way and that, Hermione desperate to hold onto the book. No doubt he'd do something nasty with it, like not give it back.

 

“Nothing at all I suspect,” Malfoy said, panting slightly, “which is why you've got such a strong grip on it!”

 

“It's Harry's book,” Hermione said, her voice rising, “let go or we'll be kicked out for causing a disturbance!”

 

After hauling them both nearly to the side, Malfoy gave a mighty heave and they both went tumbling over the edge of the table. Madame Pince came storming over but she didn't see anyone, as they were both holding their breaths underneath of it.

 

She could only find their bags and waved her wand in the air threateningly.

 

“Whoever made such a racket,” she shouted, “will be out on their ears next time. Shhh! I say, SHHH!”

 

And she stormed away.

 

Under the table, Hermione and Draco were breathing hard, though each one for entirely different reasons. On Draco's face was the most peculiar look, he was staring at the book that had tumbled open in their scuffle.

 

To Hermione's great surprise on the page in front of them, was the very same tapestry they had been searching for. It was the exact same picture that had Armand Malfoy juggling potions ingredients and Salypso Slytherin stirring his cauldron. But the title was quite different.

 

_The Mudblood Mescreance and Salypso Slytherin_

 

On the opposite side was a symbol that had become quite familiar to Hermione in the last few weeks in her studies.

 

“It _can't_ be,” Malfoy said, his voice breaking.

 

It was the Malfoy family crest but instead of their family motto under the gilded 'M' the phrase _Friends Forever, Future Forgotten_ was written instead in old english text. Malfoy slammed the book shut and reared back from it, like it had a disease.

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione tried, while she wasn't Malfoy's friend she knew it must have come as quite a shock, “it's all right. No one's going to think any less of you because you've got an ancient relation who wasn't a pure-”

 

“Shut up,” Malfoy spat, “foul little mudblood!”

 

He looked like he was about to cry. Malfoy snatched the book up, darted from under the table and ran off, quick as lightning. Hermione made her way much slower out form under the table. Malfoy had run off so fast, he had left his books and everything behind. She let go of a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Her heart was pounding loud in her ears, to have Malfoy running off like that...the answer to the mystery was more than it had first appeared.

 

Hermione wondered how she would ever get Malfoy to speak with her at all until she looked right ahead at the stack of books and the black, fine leather pouch that Malfoy used to carry his books in. Only feeling a twinge of guilt, Hermione gathered up her own bags and those of Malfoy and made her way upwards towards Ravenclaw tower. If Malfoy wanted to see his books again, he'd have to come to her. She'd made sure of it.

 

No one came for her in the evening as she sat alone in the common room studying. And there wasn't anyone waiting for her at the stairwell or around corners on Saturday. Hermione sat in her common room at her small table (useless to ever try to get a larger one as it was only ever her or Luna Lovegood) and considered what she might have to do to lure in Malfoy. He apparently had decided keeping his secrets was a fair price for his school books even if he'd had weekend homework.

 

As she wandered towards the library, Neville caught up with her.

 

“Erhm,” he stammered, Ron looked much better for a spider and was riding on his head, “would you like to come with us to Nearly Headless Nick's Death Day Party?”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, surprised, “I've never been to one.”

 

Neville wasn't particularly brilliant as he spent more time playing quidditch than studying and often she avoided him because Harry was so upset whenever he was around. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't likely to get out of hospital anytime soon and Hermione thought at least seeing a unique part of wizarding culture might be more fun than spending another night studying all alone.

 

“I'll go,” she said, smiling at Neville.

 

He flushed a deep red but looked very pleased.

 

“I asked and Nearly Headless Nick said I could bring anyone I like,” Neville said, “I already fed Ron earlier with Ginny's help – it's disgusting! I don't think Ron much likes it, until his instincts make him eat the poor mice alive. Anyway-”

 

Neville chatted with her amicably and Hermione couldn't help but wonder how her life would have been different if she had been sorted into Gryffindor instead.

 

It wasn't until after dinner on November first that Malfoy pulled her aside as everyone was filing out of the great hall. The Death Day Party had been fascinating, if a bit grim. There had been so many ghosts and all so strange! It had been very cold however and the rotten food had left a very bad smell in her nose. She did feel confident that Harry would have loved it and he'd be sore about missing it. She was in a rather good mood despite it because she'd be able to tell him all about it later and perhaps relieve some of his boredom in hospital.

 

This gave her enough of a boost to confront Malfoy before he had the chance to say anything himself.

 

“You've been avoiding me,” Hermione said, “and I know it's about what we found. You haven't even come to me about your books-”

 

Malfoy extended his hand and looked at her imperiously, “then give them back. It's the only decent thing for a Ravenclaw to do, understanding the value of a good textbook.”

 

“Not here,” Hermione snapped, appalled at his presumptions, “let's go to a classroom.”

 

Malfoy didn't look happy about it but he followed her to the abandoned classroom they had frequented before.

 

“I know you're upset about the tapestry,” Hermione said, “what I don't understand is how it all fits.”

 

“It doesn't concern you,” Malfoy said, his jaw clenching so tight it jutted out from his pointy face, “is there anything else, Granger? Or is this conversation finished?”

 

Hermione thumped his books on the desk with a bang. If he wasn't going to play by the rules decent people preferred, Hermione could certainly try his own nastier ones. Harry would be so proud.

 

“I don't care about your books,” Hermione said, “I'm sure you have enough friends to borrow from. But Harry gave me something unusual, something special to get into Slytherin house.”

 

At this announcement, Malfoy went pale as the underbelly of a fish.

 

“What,” he said, throat choked.

 

“It's not as if I have to share it with you,” Hermione said, “but I know for a fact I can get it without anybody noticing and I'll find out whatever big secret you're keeping regardless.”

 

“Go on,” Malfoy said, his eyes narrowing.

 

“I thought if we worked together whatever I find out, whatever Harry finds out later and you know he will Malfoy, it will all stay a secret. I don't have any interest in your family beyond an academic one,” she tossed her bushy hair and sat rather primly on top of a desk, “but other people do. And if we don't go looking, they will. Harry gave us something special, we can use it together this way.”

 

“I can't say yes until I know what it is,” Draco said.

 

“Trust me,” Hermione said, “it's powerful.”

 

“So,” Malfoy said, intrigued, “show it to me.”

 

Hermione pulled the invisibility cloak from her bag. She tossed it over herself and heard Malfoy gasp.

 

“An invisibility cloak,” he said, “my father had one of these but it was rubbish. It barely worked, he said most only last a few years after it's made.”

 

“This one is perfect,” Hermione said, “I think it belongs to Harry's father so we can't be hasty with it. If we're caught with it, the aurors are likely to get involved and that's not good for anyone.”

 

“In all the papers,” Malfoy mused, “they go on and on about auror Potter's stealth prowess. I'm not surprised with this cloak on his back.”

 

“I'm sure it's a lot more than just that,” Hermione said, with a sniff.

 

“I'm not,” Malfoy said peevishly, “in any event, we can skip afternoon classes Monday and go when no one is likely to be in the common room. Just be sure to understand that whatever we find has to stay a secret.”

 

He nearly hissed the orders at her but she nodded her head. It was too good a chance to pass up, Malfoy's snappish attitude or not.

 

On Monday she skipped Defense Against the Dark Arts while Malfoy skipped Charms. They met up in the dungeon hallways and Malfoy quietly made his way into Slytherin by uttering the password ' _bubotuber puss_ ' to the snake on the door. Under the cloak Hermione could see everything without anyone seeing her.

 

“What are you up to?” a very ugly prefect stood between them and the rest of the common room.

 

Malfoy sniffed, “it's none of your business what I do on my own time, MacNair.”

 

The ugly young man took a few heavy steps towards Malfoy, while Hermione held her breath. He was almost close enough to reach out and touch her on accident.

 

“Dad's not going to be on the board of education to wipe your arse forever,” the prefect said, looking down at Malfoy, “just keep that in mind.”

 

“Is that all?” Malfoy said, in a bored snobbish tone.

 

“Supposing as it stands, yeah,” Macnair said, “I'll catch you at something later, Malfoy.”

 

The prefect left the common room, and Malfoy's shoulders visibly drooped, he looked awfully tired all of a sudden. He motioned for Hermione to continue and kept watch for more students while Hermione pressed on, inching closer to the wall. It was there that she saw it, very low and half covered up by a thousand years of students rushing past. The Slytherin student's stone. She bent lower and nearly put her nose against the damp brick work before she could read the names.

 

_Salypso Slytherin_

 

Her heart beat rapidly, there was Salazar's brother plain as anything.

 

_Toma Torax, Ganzybo Gripe, Ferregrine Fisher_

 

There was no Armand Malfoy anywhere to be seen. A bit disappointed, Hermione moved upwards and then, to her great shock noticed the wall shimmer slightly.

 

“What is it?” Malfoy said.

 

“The wall,” Hermione hissed, “it's not real!”

 

“Then we'll try to break it down,” Malfoy said, taking out his wand.

 

Hermione wasn't too certain about trying to break down a wall that had been in the Slytherin common room for who knows how long but when Malfoy cast _Reducto!_ On the wall, the bits melted away and they were face to face with a strange sight.

 

The cubby was actually much larger and very clearly, all along the edges of the half wall were the remnants of a hanging tapestry. There were only wisps left, as though whatever had been stuck to the wall had been hastily torn off. Underneath the lower wisps was a sentence of Arabic writing.

 

“I know this,” Malfoy said, his voice trembling, “it's in my father's study!”

 

“What does it mean?” Hermione asked.

 

“Friends forever, future forgotten,” Malfoy said.

 

“That family crest said the same thing,” Hermione said.

 

“That's the Mescreance family crest,” Malfoy snapped, “not mine.”

 

“Who might have carved it then,” Hermione pressed, “anyone that's on this list?”

 

“No,” Malfoy said sharply, “but it proves that Armand Malfoy certainly studied at Hogwarts. Perhaps he didn't want to carve his name on the block with the others, being the better wizard.”

 

But the tightening of his jaw and the slight sweaty sheen that appeared on his upper lip told Hermione he very well knew the same thing she had put together. Armand Malfoy wasn't all he seemed.

 

“There's a bump,” Hermione said, “it's shaped like – your broach.”

 

Malfoy carefully lifted the pin from his cloak, he held it in his hands for a very long time.

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione hissed, “whatever it is that's here, your ancestor wanted you to know about it if that broach was passed down exactly how it was for a thousand years. If it's dreadful or not, you owe it to your family to find out.”

 

It seemed enough encouragement for Malfoy to screw up his courage and put the broach into the well worn lump. Holding their breath, the brick made a clicking sound and fell away. The broach landed with a loud metal noise on the floor that set their hearts pounding and hands sweating. Once it was clear no one was coming to check on the noise, Malfoy reached in and pulled out a filmy, green strand.

 

“Is that,” Hermione said, awed, “a memory? For a pensive?”

 

“Can't be,” Malfoy said, “pensives weren't invented a thousand-”

 

Suddenly, the memory began to spark like a firecracker and fizz, climbing higher and higher along the little strand. Hermione and Malfoy both scrambled to stop it, trying to keep their fingers and hands on it to keep it from burning out. When it finally got to the end, it exploded in a bright green light and sent them spinning and toppling, down and down into an unbearable, unfathomable darkness.

 

When Hermione could see again, she recalled her brief readings on the development of the pensive and memory strands. They had been considered extremely dangerous and uncomfortable and now she understood why.

  
“This is horrible,” Malfoy hissed.

 

They felt as though they were both crammed inside one body, looking out. And the body they were in, they had no control over.

 

“I'm going to be sick!” Malfoy's voice was strained.

 

Soon they couldn't say anything at all as they whizzed through a great number of images, thoughts and feelings that weren't their own. At first they were trying to sleep in a wretched pile of hay, despite the noisy sound of pigs. Then they were ploughing a field for hours and hours, the smell overwhelming, with unfriendly looking people in rags watching them. For a terrible few moments, Hermione thought she was going to be the one to make good on Malfoy's threat from the stench. Then they were spun into miserable looking town with thatched houses and rough stone streets. They were looking at the ground and their dirty, bare feet as they sorted through muck and filth for bits of metal and coin. They fell again until they were by a similar, grimy looking village but this time there were two witches and two wizards standing nearby in very large, twisty looking hats. One wizard stood out, he was wearing a rather large, green turban and elaborate, gilded eastern styled robes. Their dirty, little boy feet plodded along, head low to the ground until they neared a set of child sized pointy looking shoes.

 

“Salypso!” they heard bellowed.

 

When they rose their head, they saw what was a tiny little boy with light brown skin and long black hair who looked almost dragged down by the weight of the gold that had been draped all over him. Thick chains, rings on his fingers and a brightly coloured scarf offset black shoes that curled at the toes and a long, elaborately embroidered robe. His eyes however, looked miserable and downtrodden. As though he would have wanted to be anywhere else but where they were.

 

“I can do a trick,” the boy they had become whispered to the gilded child, “for coin or travel.”

 

“Show me,” the little boy said, gold jangling as his eyes brightened.

 

The hand that they raised was full of twigs and they burst into flame. The little boy clapped excitedly, gold rattling and clanging away in a cacophony.

 

“Come with me” the little boy implored to the person Hermione and Malfoy had become, “I can teach you all sorts of things. Promise to be my servant and I'll give you anything you want.”

 

“I'm not a servant!” was the shouted reply.

 

The shocked look on the little boy's face was startling. Then he began laughing.

 

“All right then,” the gold draped boy said, giggling behind his hand, “then we'll be friends instead!”

 

“Who is this,” the man with the turban demanded, his face twisted into a sneer, “another muggle wizard from the peasantry? I could use one, I have some things to try.”

 

“I'll take him on, Salazar,” a woman intervened, she wore a large blue twisty hat and had on a traveling robe in the same colour, “it takes some talent to light those sticks aflame.”

 

Salazar laughed loudly and cruelly.

 

“If you want another straggler it's fine by me, Rowena. My house will rise in glory, while yours is already slumping like Helga's” he said, “Salypso! This way.”

 

The little boy looked back and forth between them, stricken.

 

“Go on,” the pale woman said, “I'll take care of him.”

 

The little boy ran towards his older brother, gold jangling loudly.

 

“You're lucky Salazar didn't kill you,” the pale woman said, “that's some nerve you got. What's your name?”

 

“Maneasar,” they said.

 

“I shall tell you a few things. I can offer you room and board and a place away from this dreadful town. I'm also offering quite a lot of danger along with it. Think about it while we walk, and though you might not wish to be anyone's servant, you are now technically mine. I have a good eye for talent and you've got plenty of it. But I've seen you in the village, seen what you've been doing to the towns folk. You've a mean streak a mile wide and not much more besides. Where is your family?”

 

“Dead.”

 

“What was their family name?” she asked.

 

“Didn't have one.”

 

The witch smiled craftily, “then we will pretend you are important enough to warrant one. Your name will be Mescreance as it suits you, being how you are. Maneasar Mescreance, welcome to the makings of a school. I am Rowena Ravenclaw and you are now part of my household. Try not to make too much trouble or I'll throw you out.”

 

“Yes M'lady,” Maneasar said.

 

“Now carry these,” she gestured to several, large sacks, “and learn to make yourself useful.”

 

The memory melted away to be replaced by the sound of a sick room. Desperate coughs, the sound of children dying and the dreadful noises of people who could hardly breathe. To Hermione's shock and delight she saw a rather large blonde woman with elaborately braided hair sit down next to their memory maker and begin dabbing his forehead. This was evidently Helga Hufflepuff, in person.

 

“We'll bring it down,” she said soothingly, “you're going to be all right now. Just another few days and then-”

 

Suddenly it changed again. Hermione could feel the slightly itchy wool against her skin, the skinny legs stuffed into trousers and the uncomfortable leather shoes. But most of all, in the mirror in front of her she could see the person who she was very clearly in wavy, dark glass. He was thin, blonde with a page boy haircut and had a scarred, pock marked face. His cheeks were pointy and nose sharp, his eyes were bright blue. There wasn't much in them besides a starved sort of sadness.

 

“It's all right,” a voice said from behind.

 

Gingerly, thin fingers stroked across the skin. Malfoy sucked in a rather desperate breath just as the stranger in the mirror did.

 

“It's not all right,” their host said, “I wasn't attractive before but now I'm ugly, a mutant, how am I supposed to ever get a wife? All the gold in Normandy wouldn't-”

 

His voice had a whining, nasal tone. It was irritating to listen to, Hermione thought.

 

“You're being foolish,” the other voice said, and then a different young man appeared in the mirror.

 

There, reflected in the glass, was the teenage Salypso Slytherin. Hermione was surprised to see that he looked just like the tapestry. Long black hair, pale, sickly coloured skin, hooked nose and a very large, silver serpent brooch holding up his plain black robes. It was a far cry from the brown skinned, gold gilded child from before but most certainly the same person, all grown up.

 

“Salypso,” a rather stern voice said.

 

The mirror shifted and in the reflection to Hermione's utmost shock, she could see the blonde boy's face twist into a very familiar expression. This was because she had seen it many times before on Draco Malfoy's face when he had been talking to her.

 

“Brother,” Salypso said, turning his head.

 

Whatever had happened to Salazar Slytherin in the interim from first arriving on Scottish shores had done the worst for his appearance. He was bent over, monkey like and a little mad looking in the eyes. His beard was even longer and turning white and his face – she shuddered. His brown skin had turned chalk white and his eyes, worst of all, were snake like and red. His bald head shone under the lamp light and accentuated the heavy gold rings in his ears.

 

“Come away Salypso,” Salazar said, “your little friend has made it through the plague, he will survive. It is time to focus on more important matters.”

 

“Yes brother,” Salypso said.

 

She could feel Maneasar's hand clench tightly around a knobbly piece of wood Hermione surmised was his wand.

 

“I'll be back,” Salypso whispered, “stay well, Maneasar.”

 

The memory jumped again but this time, much more smoothly. They were outdoors at night, holding a lantern as Salypso led them somewhere, chattering rather rapidly.

 

“I've been telling him all about the muggles,” Salypso said, “and how they benefited from the potions we made together but he won't have it. So I'll have to do it in secret. Rowena will help if we can tell her-”

 

“How will we tell anyone,” Maneasar said in a whining tone, “we can't even talk around Torax, he's a dog for your brother. He's been following us all over, telling him what we're up to.”

 

Salypso stopped rather suddenly and they bumped right into him before he excitedly turned around, eyes blazing.

 

“I've been thinking about a mark,” Salypso said, “that could let others know we're safe to talk to, we could call each other with it too but it's not finished yet. Instead I thought of a poem just now-”

 

“What sort of poem,” the boy said, annoyed.

 

“One easy to remember,” Salypso said, slightly exasperated, “I know you'd don't like literature without a dirty joke at the end. We can use it, to know who is friendly and who isn't.”

 

“Go on then,” the boy snapped, “let's hear it.”

 

“All right,” Salypso said, he took in a breath.

 

Salypso was wearing a much more decorous black robe along with a thick, emerald coloured belt that laced up the front. It almost looked like the corsets muggle ladies in the 19th century had worn. Wincing slightly, Salypso adjusted his posture and cleared his throat.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“All right, all right. Here we go,” Salypso said, with a rackish smile.

 

_Turning wildly in passion thus,_

_From our bed now turned to dust,_

 

_In a nettle nest that lost its sting,_

_My heart covered in cedar blood sings._

 

_Recalling spiral steps turned black,_

_Where raven wings in the wind have flapped,_

 

_We gazed across the window ledge,_

_Unwavering in the face of death,_

 

_Life's last ocher our sanguine trust,_

_A full moon dream long after dusk,_

 

_And in a silent Mark stretched seam to seam,_

_The roses grew from our wildest dreams._

 

It was quite a performance, complete with Salypso swirling around in his robes and a very low bow at the end. He even winked at their memory host, as though sharing in the most delightful secret. The poem didn't make much sense to Hermione but suddenly, without warning Hermione felt blooming the most wonderful, heart warming feeling followed by an utterly crushing despair.

 

“What?” Salypso asked, it must have read clearly on their host's face.

 

“Nothing,” the voice said, timidly.

 

Sadness. Misery. Loneliness. Hermione felt like crying. Were these terrible feelings what the peasant boy had been carrying with him all his life? They rose uncontrollably as though they weren't just the memories themselves but an echo of the remembering. It was quite unsettling.

 

The grounds suddenly burst into fire, Hermione would have jumped in surprise if she could. The memory bled and burned and changed until it solidified.

 

Salypso was sitting in front of a large wooden box that rather resembled a coffin. Maneasar looked over the edge and then quickly leaned back. Hermione couldn't blame him, it was rather shocking. There was the body of a young man in the box, who looked in rather poor shape. His eyes were swollen and the lips were green. The voluminous black hair that spilled around him almost entirely filled up the box. He wore a fuchsia coloured shirt and a half turban, similar to the way Salazar had been dressed that first time they had seen him. A large, golden plaque rested on his chest that had the word TORAX written across it and underneath likely the Arabic spelling of the name in swirling script.

 

“It wasn't your fault,” Maneasar said, “that monster killed him first, in a fit of pique. You only tried to help.”

 

“Comforting doesn't suit you,” was muttered from a swathe of black hair.

 

Salypso was leaning on the box supported by his elbows, the picture of misery. His hair was long, straight and startlingly unkempt. His breathing seemed to come out in ugly rasps.

 

“What do we do if he does wake up,” the boy muttered, “do we kill him?”

 

“No! He was my friend. We hide him,” Salypso said, “from my brother. Toma never meant any harm, harsh as he was to you.”

 

“He loathed me,” he said.

 

“I know,” Salypso snapped, “every time you came whining about it to me it made him hate you even more. Have you ever known the virtue of being nice without getting anything in return? Here-!”

 

The loud clang made Hermione start, Salypso had thrown some very rough looking gold coins against the edge of the coffin. With his hair fallen from his face, Hermione finally noticed how very ill Salypso appeared. He was very thin in the cheeks, his breathing was laboured and he looked hunched over from pain. The robe he wore hung off his skeletal body, the silver snake broach glinting in the darkness.

 

“Take it, it's what you hunger for. It's what your whole self desires more than anything in the world.”

 

“Gold doesn't matter if you're dead,” Manesar said, quietly.

 

“Finally,” Salypso said with a rueful smile, “you've learned better.”

 

There was a rather lengthy silence. Salypso sniffed and hid his face behind his hair while their memory host writhed and twisted inside. It was awful, a mixture of jealousy and blind, vicious anger tempered by a heavy dose of self loathing. He snatched up the coins and pocketed them, and then stood up abruptly.

 

“Let's finish the laboratory,” their host said,, “and we can put him there. If he wakes up or not, surely he'd rather do it where he can scream all he likes at us for being so stupid.”

 

It was rather awful seeing the pitiful body in the casket, Hermione sorely wished she could hide her face in her hands whenever they were forced to take a look. Malfoy's ragged breathing made it known he wasn't enjoying the view much, either.

 

“Maneasar,” Salypso said, his voice very feint, “who could I trust, if not you?”

 

“No one,” the boy said, “after all these years, I'm all you have. I'm the only one who kept your secrets, who never betrayed them to your brother.”

 

“Every last one betrayed me,” Salypso said, his voice sad, “except you.”

 

Maneasar rolled up his shirt sleeve and showed off a very strange looking tattoo. It was black and covered almost his entire forearm in twisting roses with sharp looking thorns.

 

“And I won't,” Maneasar said, “ever.”

 

Maneasar's voice echoed, wavered and then disappeared.

 

Images sped past them that made little sense. Muggle children watching eagerly as potion's ingredients whizzed by their faces, Salypso stirring his cauldron and inviting them to take a taste, being shouted at by a stern looking witch with a spiral shaped hat. And last but not least, being energetically chased around the parameters by a large, red headed wizard that was obviously a young Godric Gryffindor. He had a gigantic mace that he was shaking threateningly while they laughed at him just out of reach. Mean spirited pranks involving livestock and poisoning the feed meant for geese followed, along with endless wand waving lessons and spell practices in very dodgy looking huts and out buildings that Hermione wished she could have seen properly, as they were precious glimpses of Hogwarts early history. Finally, at the very last, the memories began to crumble and Hermione had a very good feeling that they would soon be let go from the sick, whirling sensation that they were beginning to develop from being pushed past so many strange, moving images.

 

When they finally stopped they were in complete darkness. After some moments with their own breathing the only sound in their ears, their eyes adjusted and they could see. In the dark there were stacks of potion's ingredients and the light from a single green lantern lit up tiny, dried creatures in bottles and other, more familiar plants like shrivel figs and marigolds.

 

“Are you there?” Maneasar said, frightened.

 

His hand held up a single, blue lantern that Hermione excitedly realized had come from one of the stone hallways in Ravenclaw tower.

 

“Come back have you,” a voice said, from the darkness.

 

The voice was emotionless, low toned and from everywhere and nowhere at once.

 

“He was your best friend,” the voice said, “you're only friend and you turned your back on him. Betrayed him.”

 

“I never meant to,” Maneasar's hand while holding the lantern trembled and light scattered across the jars and bottles, the skulls and other things on shelves.

 

“Never meant to be a filthy, mudblood peasant,” the voice from the darkness spat, “never meant to abandon your duty?”

 

“Like you could have done anything,” their host snapped, “trapped in that dungeon, unable to even move from it because of Salazar's spell.”

 

“The chamber was useful for hiding in,” the voice intoned, “and someone had to rear that damned basilisk. My duty is over until the Gaunt girl acknowledges her proper husband.”

 

“She might not, you know,” Maneasar said, gleefuilly, “she hated Salazar, ran away from him. Kept his sons locked up because she was afraid they'd turn out _just like him!_ ”

 

The voice took in a dry, rattling breath.

 

“Still the same insults against my master. You shouldn't have come back, Maneasar. No one wanted you here even from your first day.”

 

“No one knows me by that name anymore,” Maneasar said in a biting tone, “I'm Armand Malfoy now, I'm rich and successful. A paragon of wizarding society! You can't kill me now, they'll find you and good King William isn't fond of wizards, imagine what he'd do to something worse-”

 

“ _Mal foix_ ,” the voice seemed to be weighing its strength, “it is an unfortunately accurate picture. Bad faith. A poor prospect. Mudblood filth raised to an unbearable height on the back of a Slytherin's fortune stolen from his still warm corpse. _I wonder what yours will taste like!_ ”

 

A shriek and the lantern was adjusted high, as the strange voice became limbs and a terrifying, dreadful looking face. Hermione tried to scream but found she couldn't. It was the young man from the box, looking no less horrible and corpse like when moving around than he had when still and dead. But he had fangs and long, black pointed fingernails that glinted in the dim light.

 

“He wouldn't want you to kill me,” Armand Malfoy said, “Salypso was kind, generous!”

 

“You're forgetting that he's dead,” Torax hissed, “because of you!”

 

From Armand Malfoy's pocket was pulled a thick white candle that was quickly lit from the lantern. Fire exploded from it and Torax went spinning and screaming into the dark.

 

“Salazar will kill you!” the voice screamed, “His followers are legion, they'll find you Maneasar! Wherever you are! Whatever you call yourself! From life and beyond, I'll find you and have vengeance!”

 

The air turned sweet smelling and soft and the light beautiful under the stars but the gilded Maneasar Mescreance, as Hermione and Malfoy could see clearly since they had been shoved from his body as the memory ended, was screaming into his hands in despair.

 

When the air cleared, Hermione and Malfoy were trembling on their knees still in the Slytherin common room. The feelings and events they had witness felt etched into their heads, like a brand that they could never hope to get out. It took them some minutes to realize they had been clutching each other tightly, too scared to move a muscle.

 

“That was-” Malfoy said, gasping, “horrible.”

 

It took them many deep breaths to regain their strength.

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, her voice trembled, “I think we've solved the mystery.”

 

“No,” Malfoy said, his voice cracking, “it can't be true. I'm not descended from- from a mudblood peasant!”

 

“Armand Malfoy never existed,” Hermione said quietly, “Maneasar Mescreance made him up to hide from Salazar Slytherin and his followers, whoever they might be.”

 

“It's not true! It's all a lie!” Malfoy wailed, he was getting hysterical.

 

Hermione pursed her lips, “Whether or not you like it, he was incredibly clever to keep it a secret for a thousand years, you have to admit! And he lived to tell about it! And set this whole thing up so his ancestors could someday know the truth!”

 

Malfoy's bottom lip trembled, a few tears slid down his pointed nose and for a brief second Hermione felt terribly guilty about shouting at him. Then Malfoy flung her arm away as if he'd just realized he'd been touching something filthy.

 

“This doesn’t change anything,” Malfoy spat, “don't pretend we're great chums just because there's a possibility of some common ground. You're a mudblood and will always be a mudblood and I'm part of a thousand year family of proper wizards!”

 

All sympathy immediately vanished from Hermione's heart.

 

“Proper enough to sleep with pigs,” Hermione spat, “proper enough to be ploughing fields for hours and hours on end and rolling around in manure for scraps! And betraying his best friend for who knows what reason but I doubt it was any good, considering what you lot got up to in the dark ages!”

 

Malfoy turned an angry red and Hermione wondered if she'd be hexed. Instead, he let out the most piteous wail she had ever heard and began loudly sobbing. She thought for sure the prefects would have heard so she tossed the invisibility cloak around them and half dragged the sniveling Malfoy out of the common room and into a quiet corridor by the dungeons. Even long after Malfoy had stopped crying his face was still blotchy and red. Hermione handed him a handkerchief and he snatched it from her, pressed it to his face and didn't say anything at all. He sourly glared at the floor and Hermione couldn't help but compare his pointy features to his long ago ancestor. They really did look alike.

 

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy mumbled, “and if you expect anymore from me or to be – be _friendly_ about anything, you're mistaken. But I am. Sorry. About what I said earlier.”

 

Hermione's mouth twitched, it was a pretty poor apology but it was something.

 

“I won't tell anyone,” Hermione said, “not unless you want me to.”

 

Malfoy frantically shook his head, “just forget about it. Forget it happened.”

 

Unfortunately for Malfoy, there was no forgetting the information he had learned. He would have to live with it all his life, if it became public or not. As miserable as it had made Malfoy, Hermione couldn't stop the thrill that ran through her. It was perhaps the biggest secret she had ever found out in her life and in the most extraordinary manner.

 

Who would ever have known that the famous Armand Malfoy with all his lands and prestige and money had been a mythical figure created by Maneasar Mescreance, an impoverished muggleborn peasant, to hide his real identity?

 

That almost impossibly, the Malfoy family and all it stood for, had been a lie.

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Foul Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well. I had a very bad summer is all I have to say for myself. Sorry this took so long and if there are any truly bone headed mistakes, I'll try to catch them and fix them up.

 

**Foul Blood**

 

“I would like to borrow it if I could,” Malfoy said, his face a picture of tragic deference, “I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind and I could visit him in hospital much easier this way and perhaps say hello to Theodore.”

 

It was a great stretch to depend on the fact that Granger's kindness would overrule her practical rationality as they both very well knew that visiting a person who was petrified was about as good as visiting a cupboard for all the benefits it offered. Hermione scrunched up her face in an unattractive way but finally, her dubious sympathy won out.

 

“Only if you remember to give it back and it's not mine or Harry's but his father's,” Hermione reminded him, “and do try not to upset Harry while you're there, he's still unwell.”

 

“I'll take the best of care,” Draco insisted, “don't worry about a thing.”

 

She looked dubious but still gathered the shimmery, silvery cloak from its hiding place in her bag and gave it to Draco Malfoy.

 

Naturally, Draco had no intention of visiting anyone. With the invisibility cloak finally in his clutches, it wasn't difficult to begin plotting to ruin Hermione Granger. After all, Draco knew he had no other recourse but to do so as quickly as possible, regardless what he felt about her. Though she was much more agreeable than the dreaded Professor Gamp, in the end it was Hermione's own fault since she was so nice about everything and not clever about it, like a Slytherin would be. (This particular statement also made Draco falter, because he knew Potter would have been the same mind about things, although perhaps not as swotty).

 

Strangely, Draco found himself hesitating over Hermione's fate. Two days after the discovery behind the false wall and Hermione still hadn't said anything, she hadn't even given him a piteous, self serving look. This was perhaps because despite the rest of the school panicking over the petrification of Theodore Nott, she was still preparing for exams and spent most of her time in the library. It seemed a bit boring without Potter to bother, so Draco had kept his distance. Waiting for her to say something, or make the first move. But she hadn't and his certain strategy wobbled on its legs.

 

Then there was the matter of rumours of an entirely different sort. After Theodore's petrification, Slytherin had exploded in hearsay. During quidditch practice it was no different, everyone had their own theories they were happy to voice. While gathering up the quaffle on the pitch, the team discussed some of their own.

  
“I thought old Salazar was on our side,” Flint said, despairingly, “Nott was as pure blooded as they come!”

 

“He's not dead,” Montague challenged, “maybe he would be if he wasn't.”

 

“They haven't killed anyone,” Bole, the beater replied, “I think someone who has a grudge got hold of Salazar's monster. Whatever it is, they used it to open the chamber of secrets. It's pretty convenient if you ask me, that suddenly Salazar's heir changes the family ideals.”

 

Despite looking like Goyle's long lost cousin with bristly stubby brown hair and a thick face that made him look like a Hogwarts gargoyle, Bole was almost at the top of his year. He was particularly brilliant at Arithmancy and had no time for anything he felt was lesser magic; including anything to do with muggles. His family wasn't particularly rich but they were well connected in the Wizangamot and friendly with Draco's father when it suited them both politically.

 

“Better watch yourself Malfoy,” Flint said, “if Nott got it, you'd be just as likely. And we can't win without a seeker.”

 

“I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself,” Draco reminded him, tetchily.

 

Especially since he had recently come into possession of a very excellent invisibility cloak but he wasn't about to tell anyone about that.

 

“Maybe Nott wasn't as pure as we thought,” Bletchley said, “there's been some spots of dung flung at some old families every since that book came out, Salazar's Legacy.”

 

“Rubbish,” Bole said, “Nott's as every bit pure as I am.”

 

“That's not saying much,” Bletchley said, “four hundred years ago you had a squib.”

 

“So what,” Bole snapped, “and I bet if I look six hundred or way back in the days of caves and bonfires I'd find a few murky relatives hiding in your family tree too. Three hundred years they say is the benchmark-”

 

“Not for the best families,” Bletchley said, his eyes slid towards Draco, “if it ever got out someone was impure, if there was proof- well, a lot of marriages would be sunk. A lot of castles would go into other hands, if you get my drift. But it would be the least of their worries. Old blood magic is pretty strange stuff and a lot of the best families put it to work in order to make sure everyone toed the line.”

 

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to punch Bletchley in the eye for suggesting such a thing. Did he- was it possible that Bletchley had any idea? But the look flickered away and Draco realized it was just Bletchley testing them, trying to see who would crack.

 

“What a load that is. This here is the most important part. Right suspicious” Bole said, “that Potter suddenly gets ill right after the Black family makes him an heir.”

 

“My Grandad said Regulus Black was into something deep,” Bletchley said, “he heard old Nott ranting about it. That he was getting into dangerous territory. And when that mad old codger says something isn't to be trifled with, you can count on it being the truth. Maybe Potter was cursed...!”

 

“Or maybe we are,” Derrick finally snapped, “he's saved the team.”

 

Several heads turned to look at Perrigrine Derrick. He was not known as a particularly kind boy or a smart one but he was clever with curses. He was big and square shouldered and had brown hair that was long in the back and short in the front. When the wind kicked up, most thought he rather looked like a surprised parakeet but no one would dare tell him that to his face.

 

“That's right. I don't like admitting it, but it's true,” Flint said, “without him we'd have been mediocre at best. And Longbottom and his little red headed friends spent loads of time around Auror Potter and Auror Black and they were legendary at quidditch. Lucky for us, Potter's inherited it and he's on our side.”

 

It was perhaps the only nice thing any of them had ever said about James Potter's son within earshot of one another. Begrudgingly, most of the team agreed.

 

“I wouldn't go that far,” Bletchley said, “he's a blood traitor and half a wizard.”

 

“More of a wizard than most,” Bole said, growing agitated, “even the worst families show good traits now and again. Look at Crabbe's grandfather, he was a famous inventor and there isn't a single person like that anywhere in his entire family for generations. Potter could grow out of the rotten bits, he's only twelve.”

 

“Potter's still a whinging cry baby for twelve,” Derrick said, “even if he's good at quidditch.”

 

The older boys laughed loudly at this and for reasons Draco couldn't quite explain, it made him very angry.

 

Draco clenched his jaw, “he's cleverer than all of you put together, whinging or not. And he's taught me more about dark magic than anyone else.”

 

“I think we've hit a mark,” Bletchley said nastily to Draco, “I've seen you lot in the library. Small snakes like to whinge in packs it seems, with that nasty little bugger Nott I'm not surprised dark magic is all you're talking about. Mark my words, Potter's may seem clever but he's still a mudblood. Besides, it's obvious he's a Gryffindor in Slytherin clothing and it's only a matter of time with Nott around before something dreadful happens to him. I for one, think it'll only improve Slytherins reputation when he's gone.”

 

“I doubt that,” Bole said, “I heard the teachers talking when I was showing up for my detention. They think Potter opened the Chamber.”

 

Bletchley hovered on his broom near the grass with a look of utter disbelief on his face, “that's rubbish! It can't be!”

 

“That's what I heard they said, too,” Montegue agreed, “and if it's Potter getting rid of mudbloods and shutting up Theodore Nott than I have nothing bad to say about him, half wizard or not. He's got the right idea, don't you think? It would be like the second coming of You Know Who.”

 

The mention of the Dark Lord quickly put a damper on the discussion, no one wanted to admit which side anyone's parents or grandparents had been on during the first wizarding war in front of each other, in case someone tried to use it against them.

 

“That's enough,” Flint said, “no more talk about Potter or the chamber or anything else. We've got practice to get to before the snow comes and our first game is nearly up.”

 

While it was satisfying kicking a bludgeor into Bletchley's face during practice, it didn't make Draco feel much better about his secret. It was clear someone had been telling lies and was hoping to stir everyone up since Potter, in Draco's opinion, was no more likely to have opened the Chamber than Neville Longbottom. But there were still a lot of things bothering him, why would the Professor's assume that Potter had opened the Chamber, was it to distract from who actually was? Worse, was there something about the chamber Potter hadn't told him? Most distressing of all, what was the blood magic that might cause the pure blooded families to fall apart?

 

That night Draco penned a letter to the only person who might be able to answer his questions. Draco sent a carefully worded letter to his grandfather. He didn't write to his grandfather often as Abraxus Malfoy had the terrible tendency to become vaguely staring and long winded but he was, without a doubt, the most knowledgeable person about the Malfoy family that had ever lived.

 

Two days of hanging on tenterhooks and Draco received news that almost made him turn right around out of the great hall at breakfast and pack for home.

 

“Oh! Look, it's the newest Prophet. Professor Gamp did another interview, and there's Malfoy shaking hands with the Boy Who Lived! That's a wonderful picture,” Daphne said.

 

“It's really lovely Draco,” Pansy cooed sliding the article towards him, “your mother will love it.”

 

“Charming,” Draco said stiffly, he still felt annoyed about his father making him stand next to Longbottom and didn't bother to look at it at all.

 

“I can't say much for the article,” Tracey said, her heavy lidded eyes drooping in irritation, “what do you think Pansy darling?”

 

“What a load of rubbish!” Pansy laughed cruelly, “As if any of it were remotely true!”

 

“What did it say?” Draco asked, afraid of what he might hear.

 

“It was about Professor Gamp's latest book. The Prophet said she'd be revealing the secrets of the twenty-eight. She claims most aren't as pure-blooded as they say,” Daphne said quietly.

 

She didn't look like she would particularly relish all the Greengrass secrets getting aired either.

 

“Rubbish,” Pansy repeated, snapping her bread in two, “besides, they better hope they're lies, isn't that right Draco? Otherwise all that blood magic will go up in smoke.”

 

“It only makes sense,” Tracey said, “my cousin married a pure blood from France and they had it written into their marriage contract that if they weren't a pureblood all the gold would turn straight to ashes. That would keep anyone from marrying beneath their station.”

 

“As if the goblins at Gringott's would have ever allowed that! And anyway, who'd want to marry someone with dirty blood?” Pansy said proudly.

 

“I'm going to write something into mine. Especially with all the nonsense going on lately in the Wizengamot,” Daphne said.

 

The owls flew in from Hogwarts ceiling and dropped their packages and letters. Draco received a box of chocolates from his mother and thick winter boots for flying as a pre-Christmas gift. Along with the packages was a single, cream coloured envelope that smelled vaguely of eucalyptus and tobacco, which must have come from Grandfather Malfoy's holiday estate in France. Hesitantly Draco slid open the letter and began reading it.

 

_Dearly beloved Draco,_

 

The letter had just begun and already his Grandfather had made it sound like an early funeral announcement...

 

_I should hope that these questions have only been aroused by the unfortunate rumours caused by that dreadful, vile and filthy tome Salazar's Legacy. You have not a thing to be worried about, the Malfoy's have been pure upwards of a thousand years. Your great-great-great grandfather wrote a wonderful folio about our founder Armand Malfoy and the fantastic pure-blooded family that bore him-_

 

“Draco darling, are you all right?” Pansy asked him, staring at Draco's ashen face, “haven't caught something from the nasty little half-wizard have you?”

 

“I'm fine,” Draco snapped, “letter from Grandfather.”

 

“Oh,” Goyle laughed dumbly, he had finally stopped eating long enough to open his mouth for something other than food, “the way he goes on, surprised your letter isn't long as the great hall.”

 

“Right,” Draco snapped, peevishly.

 

_However, if someone had been hoodwinked and a child was born into our family who wasn't a pureblood, nothing would be amiss. There are no punishments in our family legacy for less than pure children, as dalliances happen even amongst the best. The heir naturally, is an entirely different matter. But I know your mother's pedigree and it is absolutely as pure as the golden cauldron your Professor Snape brews his finest potion's with. Even if by some strange chance a child in our family hadn't been pure many generations ago, it would have to be publicly acknowledged or written into our family registry safely kept in the ministry and I can assure you, no such accusations have ever been put down on any parchment for all and sundry to see._

 

_In the name of magical learning, let us think academically for a moment and hypothetically; if the heir of a family such as ours were not pure and it was somehow put into the annals or the ledger in the ministry or else, acknowledged as wider knowledge in the community that such an heir existed, that would be a sticky wicket indeed for you see, it is rather intimated in our family annals themselves that something dreadfully awful would happen. I was taught by my great-great-great-great grandfather about blood magic on his ghostly knee before he left for Paris to enjoy the company of his French relations for the rest of his eternity. Even he wasn't entirely sure what would happen, despite his age and wisdom. Without a doubt, he had assumed it would somehow ruin the family estate, if not the entire family, in a violent and horrible way. None of this matters of course, because you're as pure-blooded as I am, as your mother is and as all your fathers were before you all the way back to our most gracious founder.... _

 

Suddenly feeling very light headed, Draco got up and left the dinner table without sparing a second glance for Pansy, Daphne or even Crabbe and Goyle who were no doubt still stuffing their faces.

 

It was mad. It was absolutely mental. If Armand Malfoy (actually the mudblood peasant Maneasar Mescreance) had known he wasn't a pureblood why had he created such a complicated spell to ruin his own family if the truth were ever found out? And then why would he have left the ability to find that truth and show it to all and sundry in a brick buried in Hogwarts own walls that only required Draco's serpent shaped brooch to open? It didn't make any sense at all. Perhaps the founder of the Malfoy family had truly been mad from the start.

 

That night Draco laid in bed shivering and not because of the cold. If anyone found out that Draco Malfoy and the whole Malfoy family were technically born from a mudblood a thousand years ago, he might as well fling himself from the top of the astronomy tower to spare himself the unknown dreadful consequences. He had read many books about dark magic, he knew the horrible things that happened to people who found themselves on the bad end of blood magic. The gruesome animations in the books from the manour library danced grotesquely in his head, tormenting him all night.

 

There was only one person he could go to about it in the morning, of course, because they were the only one who might not harm him for it.

 

“No one must know,” Draco hissed at Hermione Granger in a dim, dungeon lit hallway in Hogwarts, “and don't talk to me if you don't have to.”

 

It seemed no matter if it was the right thing to do or not, Miss Granger would have to continue being useful until Draco could manage to think of a way out of the truth.

 

“And what will you be doing?” Hermione said, her lips thinned in a way that told Draco she was insufferably smug about being asked to help.

 

“I'll be looking for things that might suggest what the results of the blood magic might be and why Professor Gamp is so interested in the results.” Draco said.

 

“Ooh,” Hermione said, excited, “that's clever. I bet that's what she after all along. It wasn't about the truth at all, she wanted whatever secrets are locked in your manour by Mescreance...no one would have known Salypso more!”

 

“Don't say his real name!” Draco hissed at her, “They'll hopefully stay locked up after this. Now go on, be a good Ravenclaw and I'll contact you again if I find anything.”

 

Annoyed at being dismissed, Hermione tossed her nose in the air and stalked away, gigantic tome clung to her chest.

 

There were a few more dreadful days of classes wherein Draco spent most of the time trying not to seem suspiciously foul blooded and wondering if he were appearing more so as every minute that passed despite it. He almost botched up his potion, nearly miscast a basic transfiguration spell to turn a budgie into a decorative box and caused even Goyle and Crabbe to question how he was feeling due to a chronically sallow complexion.

 

When Draco went to study in the common room, he tossed his books on the little table that had once so often housed Harry Potter and Theodore Nott. The opened brick had gone unnoticed along with the student's names carved alongside. No student had paid it any attention, nor did they seem to notice that particular corner had grown a little larger from the false wall falling away. Draco sat in the darkened corner miserably, looking up at the half-blood Salypso Slytherin who still hung on the wall and sorely wished his ancestors had made it disappear so many years ago, along with all the misery it had caused.

 

“E-excuse me,” a girls voice shook him from his revelry, “that's our seat, if you don't mind.”

 

“Oh honestly,” Millicent said, “no need to stand on ceremony. What are you doing lurking in Harry's corner Malfoy? Going to have another go at him in hospital?”

 

Looking up at the two interlopers he took note of Ginny Weasley, notorious blood traitor and irritating first year, standing alongside Millicent Bulstrode- who at twelve with wide, masculine shoulders and haggard black hair, rather resembled a banshee mated with the oafish gameskeeper Hagrid. They were an unattractive pair, made worse by the sour looks on both their faces.

 

“It's my seat now,” Draco peevishly replied.

 

It was rare Draco ever bothered to sit at a table, he much preferred the comfortable stone couches and the prime view of the common room they offered but at the moment, he wasn't in the mood.

 

“Oh not you don't,” Millicent said, puffing herself up, “Harry's only in hospital because you dragged him out into bad weather, you don't deserve his seat too!”

 

“I didn't cause anything,” Draco said, “and anyway, he didn't have to agree to it.”

 

“Ha!” Ginny said, seeming to gain courage in Millicent's company, “you practically told him he'd be sunk if he didn't! And all that rubbish with the prefects!”

 

“Not that it's any of your business,” Draco snapped, “if you have a crush on him you might as well tell him to your face and not try and defend him when he isn't even here to appreciate it.”

 

Satisfyingly, Ginny turned red as her hair just like her idiot brothers. Smirking Draco got up from his table and offered it to them.

 

“If being in the vicinity of Potter's backside means so much to you, than by all means,” Draco said, nastily, “surely he'd appreciate a handmade card by his hospital bed, like the one you made last night! It sang so shrilly I thought my ears would fall off!”

 

Several third year girls Draco didn't recognize let out loud giggles, Pansy was smirking next to Blaise and Daphne.

 

“Shut your mouth!” Millicent shouted.

 

“What does it matter if I made him a card? At least I'm doing something! He's-,” Ginny said, furiously, “he's really sick and it's all your fault. They even floo'd his parents! And you don't feel the least bit bad at all! I knew you weren't much Malfoy but you're no better than pond scum!”

 

Red hair swirling as Ginny stormed away, Millicent stood stiff for a few seconds glaring at Draco unsure what to do, until she finally followed after her.

 

“Everyone's so-oo worried,” Pansy said in a mocking tone, “Potter just has another cold.”

 

“He's quite ill actually,” Emmaline said confidently from her corner by the fire, surrounded by first and second year girls who were playing gobstones, “Professor Snape is even brewing him special potions on the order of the Headmaster himself. All the teachers are worried about him. Whatever your feelings are about Potter, it's bad luck to talk about someone ailing Parkinson, you should know that coming from the family you do. You can bet the prefects won't take kindly to anyone spreading any more rumours, either.”

 

Emmaline was friendly with the prefects and considered quite highly by Professor Snape, though a half blood she was quite out of Pansy Parkinson's league to challenge at the moment, which led to her wilting back into her seat.

 

“He's a whinging cry baby anyway,” Pansy said, under her breath, “Slytherin would be better off without him.”

 

“You'd regret saying that if it comes true, Pansy. I'd go see him Malfoy,” Emmaline said, flicking her long braided hair over her shoulders, “it's only the right thing to do.”

 

“Like she'd know,” Pansy hissed nastily to Daphne, “she's half a witch. ”

 

Sparing Draco the waste of air to bother with their inanities, Crabbe and Goyle had finally lumbered over, wondering what all the noise was about.

 

“Come on you two,” Draco snapped, “there's more interesting things to do by the pitch.”

 

Dumbly, Crabbe and Goyle followed after Draco who stormed from the room. He did spend an awful lot of time on the pitch that night but only because an unfamiliar gnawing feeling grew in his stomach. It was like a small dragon taking tiny bites from his gullet. Draco had been extremely busy, he couldn't have spared a thought for Potter at all when his entire life was about to fall out from under his feet. It was perfectly normal. But the small dragon was relentless; perhaps he should have spared something, he could have been a little kinder before he...but that was a foolish thought. Potter would recover and he would return to class annoying as ever. Surely, nothing was really amiss.

 

At lunch time on a Wednesday, Draco happened to come across Professor Snape who was returning from the sixth year potion's laboratory.

 

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Draco said.

 

“Good afternoon Mr. Malfoy,” the Professor muttered in a distracted tone as he flapped by in quick steps.

 

“Professor,” Draco said, “when do you think Potter will be back in classes?”

 

The Professor froze and slowly turned to regard Draco with a heavy gaze.

 

“Not for some time,” the Professor admitted, “he's not very well. Stay away from him Mr. Malfoy. It could be catching, your mother would certainly have my hide if you were to wander into a sick boy's room out of curiosity and catch something.”

 

“Pneumonia isn't terribly contagious,” Draco said, “perhaps I could-”

 

“No,” Professor Snape said, sharply, “It's not- not entirely pneumonia. You mustn’t! And that's an absolute order, the last I'll say on the subject.”

 

In a rush, the Professor continued his rapid walk down the hallway to Draco's absolute surprise. Getting out the cloak from his dorm cubby, Draco threw it over himself without thinking anything at all about his afternoon classes. He'd pop in the hospital wing to see Potter and then be back in time for last lessons, there certainly wasn't anything Professor Snape could do about that.

 

Draco managed to sneak into the hospital wing just as a fourth year girl left with a pot of salve in her hands and a very big bandage across her nose. He quickly checked the beds to see which one Harry was in.

 

Strangely, Harry wasn't in any of them but Draco heard sounds coming from one of the sick rooms they had used in the fourteenth century during so many dreadful plagues. Draco crept towards the door, the strange sounds getting louder. He gently pushed open the door and slipped into the darkened room. It smelled funny; there was a pulsating, swollen plant sitting on a bed side table emitting vaporous steam into the air that had an odour like wintergreen. The bed was almost surrounded by dark curtains and Draco had to carefully push them aside to find Harry laying in bed, his chest moving raggedly with the sound of his harsh breathing.

 

That was the odd noise Draco had been hearing. The wheezing breath leaving Harry's cracked and pale lips. He looked deathly pale laying on the bed, frail and weak with his fist clenched tightly over his chest, as though even asleep he couldn't escape the pain.

 

It took a moment for Draco to recover from the sight. He was expecting someone suffering from a bad flu or an aching chest, perhaps Harry Potter oozing snot from his nose like last year, annoyed or cross from being forced into bed- not what appeared to be a twelve year old on their death bed. The door creaked open and Draco had to scramble behind the pulsating plant and slip into a large cupboard to be sure he wouldn't be bumped into.

 

“It is as I'd feared,” Headmaster Dumbledore's voice was very quiet and quite sad, “Tom Riddle has taken quite a lot out of him. This may be the end.”

 

“Surely you can't mean-” Professor Snape's voice broke in.

 

Draco peeked out from the behind the cupboard, the Professor had a very unfamiliar expression across his sallow face. One that was scrunched unattractively with worry.

 

“I'm afraid I do,” the Headmaster said, “we have no idea how Tom Riddle is hiding inside of this boy but only that he is slowly draining the life from his body. He grows stronger as Harry grows weaker and without the diary to destroy, I can't say how it's possible we can save him before it's too late.”

 

“No!” Professor Snape said, his bony hands clenching in anger, “There must be a way!”

 

“Perhaps if he had been stronger to begin with,” the Headmaster said, “Severus, you must admit that a feud between friends has worsened the situation.”

 

The expression on Professor's Snape face went from incredulous, mulish and then became outright anger.

 

“What was I supposed to do,” Professor Snape snarled, “go against the wishes of the boy's mother? Sneak him off into the forbidden forest for dark arts practice in the dead of night? You said so yourself, our noses must be clean in case others clue in to this boy's-”

 

“That's enough Severus,” the Headmaster said mildly, “not so loud or Madame Pompfrey will be forced to eschew us from the patient's bedside.”

 

“You miserable old fool,” Professor Snape bit out, “so coiled in your own machinations. I hope that hat knew what a snake you would have made had the world been turning at a different speed! Godric Gryffindor ought to be spinning in his grave this very night, at this very moment! Or perhaps you're simply living up to the history of your much vaunted house of virtuosity! They too, enjoyed manhandling other people's children right into their graves! He's not a prize to be doled out to the winning party or a life to be toyed with but a boy- _a little boy_!”

 

Draco had never heard anyone speak to the Headmaster in such a tone and for a moment, he felt a little proud of his Professor even if, to his frustration, he couldn't quite follow what was going on.

 

“I'm glad you've finally realized that,” the Headmaster said, a smile on his face despite the Professor's cruel tone, “I was rather afraid you'd only see him as James Potter's son and not a student that needed looking after. Or worse, as a lodestone around your neck put there by a childhood friend.”

 

“What I see in him is irrelevant,” Professor Snape all but snarled, “what do you see him as, Headmaster? A human being _-or something else?_ ”

 

“I see him as potentially one of the greatest and most accomplished dark wizards of our age,” the Headmaster replied mildly, “and I dare say, to my relief he's quite a lot kinder than many would suspect given his talents. But we must work together to keep him healthy, that's the key. Whether or not we hurt the ones we love in the process, or the ones he loves...”

 

Professor Snape curled his hands into claws and took on such an ugly, clenched toothed look Draco was sure that the Headmaster was about to be hexed. Instead the Professor took several deep breaths between clenched teeth, closed his eyes and nearly collapsed into a squashy chair near the bed. He put his face in his hands as the Headmaster gave him an encouraging pat on his shoulder.

 

“The theory we discussed,” the Headmaster said, “it may hold.”

 

“What if it doesn't,” the Professor's voice was so low and muffled Draco had to lean farther from the cupboard to hear, “what if it fails too?”

 

“Then we've done all we can,” the Headmaster said, “I must look for something that's been lost, it may help us put Riddle on the outs. When you're ready, I would like you to begin the search for anything Riddle might have attached himself to, paying close attention to any possessions that belong to Professor Gamp. Think about what we've discussed concerning Lily. As you did so long ago on that dreadful October night, sparing at least one boy a dreadful fate.”

 

“Of course,” Snape muttered, low and quiet, “even if I may have condemned him to another.”

 

“You're a good man Severus, at heart,” the Headmaster said, “she was right about that and so was I.”

 

The Headmaster took his leave and the room dimmed into an even gloomier darkness. Despite the fact Draco's legs and arms felt like they were seizing up and his nose was terribly itchy from the wintergreen, he didn't dare move a muscle so close to Professor Snape.

 

The Professor suddenly made a strangled sound into his hands, it startled Draco rather badly. Professor Snape rose onto his feet and made his way over to Harry Potter's bedside. Stiffly, as though entirely unsure how to accomplish it, he patted Harry's pale looking hand in an attempt to offer comfort. Of course, Harry was in a very deep sleep and hardly stirred.

 

“If you-.” the Professor's voice hitched slightly, his eyes going glassy as though seeing something very far away for a moment, “if you survive, I promise I'll teach you all I know, like a proper son. The sort I never had.”

 

The Professor's face took on a pinched, ugly red hued look and he had to bring his sleeve up to his face to muffle the noises emitting form his rather large, hooked nose. When the Professor had finished, he wrapped his black cloak around himself and stalked out the door pale faced, sallow as always as though nothing had been amiss at all.

 

Disturbed greatly, Draco shivered in his hiding place. He nearly left the corner behind the cupboard but he was smacked in the face by something warm, invisible and fluttery.

 

“Clever old codger pushing Snape like that,” Draco heard, hissed out from the shadows, then the fluttery shape revealed itself.

 

It was Professor Gamp, who had her own invisibility cloak she had no doubt purchased from Knockturn Alley, just like Draco's father. She must have been lurking there even before Draco had come. After throwing it off and fluffing her flattened hair, the Professor strode around the hospital room, observing Harry Potter from every angle, as though he were a scientific curiosity. Her bright purple robes swished and swirled around her, sparkling in what little light flickered into the room from the wintergreen plant. Her long dark hair was as prettily arranged as ever, though her face...Draco could have sworn something uglier lurked beneath, like a glamour beginning to go off.

 

“Too bad about all this,” she said, gesturing to the hospital room, “if only I had known before I went so far....but my need was greater and I hadn't figured it all out yet. Your time was borrowed this far anyhow, Harry Potter.”

 

She smirked and drew out her wand in one hand and a clear looking crystal ball in the other. Draco fought the desperate urge to come thundering out from his corner and stop the Professor, he sweated and felt like sicking up but he held firm. If Harry Potter died or not, it was imperative he wasn't to be seen.

 

“Come out, Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Professor Gamp said, her voice taking on a strange tone as dark magic crackled in the room, “I have your name wilful spectre. Like a ghost you are, and now you must listen to me and get in this crystal! _Empusare!_ ”

 

Raising her wand she made a shape in the air and a drawing appeared that looked like a fiery, skeletal serpent. When the spell was uttered the most incredible thing happened right before Draco's eyes. The serpent seemed to shrink and then explode in a white light. Nearly blinded, Draco could still make out the rough shape of a teenage boy, his robe flapping in the violent explosion, his dark hair wild and his face twisted in an expression of rage.

 

“You're more useful to me alive than exorcised,” Professor Gamp said, “for now! In you go!”

 

The shadows shrank and shrank until they were all crammed into the crystal ball. Professor Gamp held it up to her face and Draco could see a purplish light softly glowing in the sudden darkness, reflecting wildly over her pretty features.

 

“Yes,” she said, in awe of her own powers, “I have the Dark Lord in my pocket. The monster in the chamber of secrets is mine to control!”

 

She put on her cloak again and crept from the room, her footsteps muffled and robes silenced by her dampening spell.

 

Slowly, with very careful movements, Draco crept from his hiding place and walked over to Harry Potter's bedside. Like a stone falling in his stomach, Draco was surprised how relieved he was to notice Harry was still breathing. Harry looked like always, in fact, a bit better. There was no lingering monstrosity on his form that Draco could see or any signs he had been possessed by one of the most evil wizards in the world. His colour was coming back, cheeks that had been sunken and hollow from sickness were filling out again, a flush was returning to his sticky, pallid skin. It was as though he were coming back to life.

 

Not two seconds later, Poppy Pompfrey burst into the room and took Harry Potter's temperature and vitals, sending Draco scrambling behind the cupboard for the third time.

 

“Much better,” Pompfrey said, approvingly.

 

Bustling hurriedly, she checked the wintergreen and adjusted its pulsations, then left out the door leaving Draco finally, blissfully alone for certain. He'd never been so happy to leave the hospital wing and stretch his legs.

 

When Draco he finally made it to bed that night after reams of homework that couldn't be put off any longer, Draco found himself more afraid than he'd ever been. Professor Gamp had taken _Lord Voldemort_ from Harry Potter! Montague, Boyle and Pucey had been right if only by halves. Draco knew Harry had nothing against muggleborns theoretically but he and Theodore had gotten into a fight just before on the subject. Malfoy himself had been somewhat aggravating towards Harry in the time between the incidents had started and they had ended. If Harry had a monster that came from a secret chamber, he'd certainly be using it against anyone who bothered him. Perhaps that's what Tom Riddle had wanted in return for his powers... _but no that couldn't be true_ , Draco encouraged himself as he grimly looked up at his green bed curtains, painfully aware of the two empty beds nearby for the first time, _Harry isn't like that._ He was as noble as any Hufflepuff when it came down to it and more Gryffindor than anything else. He'd surely prefer having a go at someone by the lake than sneaking around petrifying people. It was an utterly foolish thought. But Professor Gamp...she wouldn't be above petty acts of revenge and now she had the same power. Draco spent a very restless night wondering what he could do against someone who had just captured a Dark Lord in the palm of their hand.

 

Thursday night at dinner time, the Gryffindor table in the great hall looked fuller than it had been for quite some time. Walking as close to a jog as he could get away with, Ron Weasley had never in all his life been so happy to sit down in Hogwarts great hall for an evening meal.

 

“Welcome back!” George said, slapping him mightily on the back.

 

“Good to see you, old boy!” Fred joined in.

 

“I was here the whole time!” Ron said, outraged.

 

Lee Jordan began laughing, barely able to keep it down as Professor McGonagall walked by their table and gave the three boys a stern look. They weren't to make fun of Ron's 'accident' but it hardly stopped them from trying.

 

“I'm glad you're not a spider anymore,” said Neville, then he whispered, “shame you can't still spy on the Slytherins.”

 

“It wasn't worth it,” Ron said, just the thought of all the rats he'd had to eat was almost enough to turn him off his supper.

 

Adding another heap of mashed potatoes to his plate, Ron chewed thoughtfully considering everything he had learned in Slytherin house. It had certainly been a very illuminating experience, he wasn't sure where to start in telling Neville all about it, once he got back from his trip with Percy to replace his wand.

 

“At least Mum and Dad can go visit Charlie without worrying,” Ron said, stabbing his meat pie, “would have been awful to spend Christmas as a spider in Dad's pocket.”

 

“I suppose you're going home for Christmas too,” Seamus said to Neville.

 

“Have to,” Neville said, “but I wanted to stay here, just the once. Besides, Mr. Potter and Mr. Black are visiting Harry in hospital.”

 

“Would have been brilliant having them sit at the Gryffindor table again,” Lee Jordan said excitedly, he was quite the fan of James Potter's quidditch career.

 

“That would have been brilliant,” said Olliver Wood, another avid fan, “maybe someone can talk them into it.”

 

“They've got more to worry about than quidditch, Wood,” Angelina tartly reminded him, “with a sick little boy.”

 

“How's Harry?” Neville asked, trying not to sound nervous.

 

“All right, I guess,” Ron said, “didn't look too well when I was up there but Madame Pompfrey said he might be all right to come back to classes after hols. Then he threw a half-hearted wobbly when he was told he couldn't have treacle tart at Christmas because he's been so ill.”

 

“Must be feeling better then,” Neville said relieved.

 

“Was that before or after Madame Pompfrey combed out your lovely ginger bristles?” Pansy Parkinson said loudly, on her way to the Slytherin table.

 

Loud laughter came from the Slytherins and a few scattered giggles from Ravenclaw, Terry Boot was sniggering into his pumpkin juice. He stopped when Professor Flitwick strolled by and gave him a disapproving look.

 

“Never mind about them,” Angelina said, “see how they'd like being a spider for three months...”

 

“Hi Neville!” chirped a rather excited voice.

 

The blinding flash that followed and had everyone's vision doubling, made him aware that Colin had finally found his way to dinner. It was also a relief to be able to blink, Ron noted, since being photographed with a flash bulb was doubly awful when you had six eyes without eyelids.

 

“It's great you're not a spider anymore, Ron! I bet everyone's pretty happy, eh? I've been busy too while you were in hospital,” Colin chattered excitedly, “first, Professor Gamp wanted me to photograph lots of stones around Hogwarts. She paid me three whole galleons! Then the bushy haired Ravenclaw-”

 

“Hermione Granger,” Neville corrected automatically, with the tone of someone resigned to his fate of never having a spare moment without Colin Creevey snapping away in his face the rest of his life, “she's second-year.”

 

“That just so! She had me taking pictures of brooches and papers and things and she gave me twelve sickles! I told her she didn't have to give me anything but I hadn't realized that wizarding film is so expensive, good thing I took it. Anyway I-”

 

When a long, dark shadow fell over the Gryffindor table, Colin stopped his constant stream of chatter and let out a terrified squeak instead. Professor Snape was looming right over him, scowl on his face, and nose wrinkled in distaste.

 

“I certainly hope the ingredients for that potion didn't come from my potions supplies,” Professor Snape said.

 

His gaze fell across Neville, Ron, Fred and George with equal weight. Neville tried not to flinch under its intense scrutiny.

 

“N-no a fifth year went to Hogsmeade for me,” Colin stuttered.

“Someone has been filching the class stores,” Professor Snape elucidated, “I should hope it hasn't been any of you, as if it has, detention shall be the least of your worries.”

 

Professsor Snape stalked away, black robes snapping behind him.

 

“You really haven't?” Lee asked Fred.

 

“No,” he said, then turned to his brother, “what about you?”

 

“Hasn't been me. Colin?”

 

Colin shook his head frantically, it hadn't been likely to be him anyway. Stealing potions stores was well beyond that particular first year.

 

Ron and Neville regarded each other uneasily.

 

“Wonder what he meant by that?” Neville said.

 

“I certainly haven't been stealing anything,” Ron blustered, “I didn't even have arms to hold potions ingredients until today!”

 

After they had eaten their very excellent supper, Neville finally managed to shake off Colin Creevey by convincing him Professor Gamp would love to see his photos of the Ravenclaw quidditch team on the pitch he had developed that morning.

 

“Did you ever find out who sent that rogue bludgeor?” Ron asked, as they made their way towards the Headmaster's office.

 

“Not really,” Neville said, “I'm just lucky Professor Gamp was there to set my arm straight away so I could keep on playing.”

 

“You'd think Professor McGonagall would have been less cross, we were a shoe in,” Ron said.

 

“I don't think she likes Professor Gamp overly much, she seems to be keeping a very close eye on her,” Neville said.

 

“Hermione told me she had trouble with Professor Gamp too,” Ron said, thoughtfully, “but I couldn't ask her what she meant because I couldn't say anything. I thought about trying to get hold of a quill in Ravenclaw tower but then she had to feed me a rat and she nearly sicked up when I ate it so Ginny took me back to Gryffindor instead.”

 

“You've almost seen all the Hogwarts houses common rooms!” Neville said brightly.

 

“When I was a spider,” Ron reminded him, “I wasn't exactly given the grand tour!”

 

“Hello Neville, Ron,” Percy said, his prefect badge gleaming.

 

“That's a fine thing,” Ron said, “what am I, chopped liver?”

 

“Are you at all ready to go get your wand?” Percy said, with some annoyance.

 

“Keep your shirt on,” Ron said, “I have everything in my bag.”

 

With special dispensation from Professor McGonnagall and a bit of assistance from the Headmaster's office floo, Ron had been allowed to replace his defective wand with his brother's assistance.

 

“Why aren't we going to the Hogsmeade branch?” Ron asked, loudly, before they crawled into the floo.

 

“Because,” Percy said with the air of someone explaining something they found tiresome, “due to your magical accident, Mr. Ollivander is worried about his associate's ability to find you a wand that won't light your robes on fire. There are more wands in the Diagon Alley location, therefore-”

 

“I'm sorry I asked,” Ron said, sharply.

 

It was exciting to be leaving the school when everyone else wasn't but his brother wasn't exactly the fun loving type and Ron wasn't expecting much from the trip. The galleons felt a bit heavy in his pocket and for good reason; they were the very same ones Harry had lobbed at his head.

 

“This way,” Purcy said, as they stepped out of the floo, “come on, hurry!”

 

“All right, all right!” Ron said, nearly tripping over his robe.

 

Quickly dodging patrons in the Leaky Cauldron they made their way through softly falling snow into Diagon Alley proper and to Ollivander's wand shop without delay.

 

“He did make time just for you,” Percy reminded Ron for the hundredth time, “do be sure to be on your best behaviour.”

 

“Oi,” Ron said, “what do you take me for? I'm not Fred and George.”

 

“You have been spending an awful lot of time with Slytherins,” Percy said, “I haven't any idea what you've picked up.”

 

“I wasn't _making friends_ with them!” Ron all but shouted.

 

The door jangled and it shut them both up as they hurriedly slipped into the tight, dusty little shop. Ollivander popped up almost the moment they arrived with a cheerful smile.

 

“Ah,” he said, “Mr. Weasley. I heard there was a mishap.”

 

Percy banged Ron on the elbow, which generally meant not to embarrass him in front of somebody he thought was important. Ron was turning a bit red, it was his luck he'd get stuck with Percy in Diagon Alley.

 

“My brother had a very unfortunate accident,” Percy said, the gravity in which he spoke so severe as to suggest instant death and not minor inconvenience, “it seems to have effected his wand.”

 

The wand was taken from Percy's pocket and handed into Mr. Ollivander's hands. He held the wand up to the light and examined it closely, hummed and hawed for a rather lengthy period. Then gently tapped it against the desk until it expelled yellow sparks.

 

“The wand is fine,” Mr. Ollivander said, “I shall take it back and give you a new one that suits better, at no cost at all.”

 

Ron and Percy glanced at one another, it was nice but unexpected.

 

“It's Mr. Weasley who is different,” Mr. Ollivander said, “come up the desk and we'll try again.”

 

Ron stepped up to the desk and began trying the wands Mr. Ollivander set out for him. There was quite a hefty pile in a few minutes and another on a spindly looking chair by the time it was almost dark.

 

It took ages to go through each one individually. Worse than that, nothing seemed to work.

 

“I don't understand,” Percy said, suddenly, “these are all clearly badly suited.”

 

“I suppose I have no choice,” Mr. Ollivander said, quietly, “these came from Mr. Potter, you know. They belonged to a rather eccentric branch of the family many years ago.”

 

Five boxes were laid out on the counter, they were all rather singed looking around the edges.

 

“Were they in a fire?” Ron said.

 

Percy gave his elbow a wallop for that but it had seemed like a reasonable question. It wasn't as if Ron wanted to get stuck with a wand that looked like Harry's. All burned up and lumpy, like something a dark wizard would use.

 

“Here,” Mr. Ollivander said, lifting the cover, “this is a place to start.”

 

The wand was actually quite nice in appearance, it looked very green and springy all twisted up like a vine.

 

“Wow,” Ron said.

 

Unfortunately, it only shot out droopy bubbles when Ron tried using it.

 

“A bit too whimsical,” Mr. Ollivander said, “how about this one?”

 

It was a bit odd looking, a little crooked near the end as though there had been a kink in the wood it had been made from. Ron gave it a go but it had no greater effect than the previous (except for thankfully, fewer bubbles in the air).

 

“For the best I think,” Mr. Ollivander said, “that one is blackthorn.”

 

“Oh,” Ron said, having no idea what he was on about.

 

“This,” Mr. Ollivander said, pulling the fifth wand's box apart with a flourish, “it can't be any one but this one, I'm sure of it.”

 

Percy tried valiantly but he failed hiding his slight snicker.

 

“It's awfully...pink,” Ron said, aghast.

 

“A deep rose, made of larch wood,” Mr. Ollivander said, “pale gold normally but this one has been stained by blood.”

 

“Blood?” Ron said, a bit squeamish, “who's blood?”

 

“I'm not sure,” Mr. Ollivander said, “perhaps a Potter ancestor or someone who crossed them...this one is quite unusual. It's heart you see is woven hairs from a giant spider. I presume it must have been from the original owner's pet to forge a stronger connection.”

 

“A what-!,” Ron all but shouted.

 

Percy shot a look at Ron, who shook his head. Certainly, no one had told Mr. Ollivander about the exact nature of Ron's accident.

 

“Acromantula hairs encased in larch wood,” Mr. Ollivander said, “an exceptionally rare combination. No one can make them in modern times, they are absolutely antique. But I have seen a fair number on auction blocks abroad as they're quite difficult to place with new owners. Go on, give it a try!”

 

Naturally, it lit up bright gold sparks.

 

No money had exchanged hands and Ron felt rather cheerful with about five galleons in his pocket and another two still in Percy's. Since they hadn't had to pay for it there was no reason to mention it to their Mum at all. The snow was softly falling and swirling around them as they hurried back to the Leaky Cauldron to take the floo back to Hogwarts.

 

“It's really a lovely pink,” Percy said, as he stepped into the floo.

 

“Oh stuff it,” Ron said, tartly.

 

Very late that same night, Malfoy was wandering Hogwarts halls alone holding a green lantern he had filched from the common room. There were many plans of action that Draco had considered and then discarded. He had finally gathered the invisibility cloak and managed to tell Granger to meet him in the library at midnight, without anyone important seeing them together.

 

The library was a different place in the dark. It was quiet and spooky and the shadows from the lantern cast monstrous effigies on the wall. The only benefit was a distinct lack of observers; besides a near run in with Filch's cat, Draco had been able to find his book in the restricted section without incident. Quietly he crept into a cubby in the back and took off the invisibility cloak, stuffing it inside his bag.

 

At about a quarter after midnight, he had finished reading a mighty treatise on magical objects that held ghosts. The most famous variety were known as _grave goblets_. Various warnings were peppered in the text and a suggestion to turn in such objects to the ministry, as they were dark magic and not to be trifled with. There was of course one still in Malfoy manor that had been collected by one of Draco's relations back in the sixteenth century, he recognized it because he had always found it funny a crystal ball had been labelled a goblet and had thought it was a mistake. Though its existence was assured, Draco couldn't fathom how he could turn the tables on Professor Gamp by using the same power. Perhaps Voldemort could even be trapped inside and destroyed...but that was far too much for Draco to consider. He didn't want to be killed if something went wrong and even in the current situation, things seemed quite dire.

 

The book was placed back where it came from and Draco wandered miserably through the stacks wondering what he could do to stave off the inevitable, when he felt a swift tap on his arm by a bushy haired person.

 

“Don't contact me where people can see!” Draco snapped.

 

“We're in a dark library in the dead of night,” Hermione reminded him, “I found something more this afternoon, something terribly interesting. Perhaps you can confirm whether or not it's true.”

 

Pulled from her bag was an enormous book called _'Hauntings and Harrowed Horribleness: The Ghosts of Britain and Where To Find Them_ '. With flourish, Hermione popped open the book to a marked page.

 

“Look here,” Hermione said, keeping her voice low, “Malfoy manour is in this book, along with many of its ghosts. You've got quite a few, it's actually quite impressive how many squeezed themselves in a comparatively small estate.”

 

“It's not,” Draco said, feeling his temper rise, “small. Especially not compared to whatever muggle hovel you're sure to crawl back to each summer.”

 

Hermione puffed some hair out of her eye and gave him a look.

 

“I meant small compared to Hogwarts,” she said, placidly turning the page, “there's a mystery concerning one of your ghosts. Do you know about him? The hanged man?”

 

“A bit,” Draco said, “he's mischievous or so I've heard. Two years before I was born he apparently made quite a raucous during Christmas dinner and was banned upstairs to the library on Mother's orders.”

 

When he was around eight years old he had been reading in the library and high above his head he had caught a glimpse of the thin, elderly man with the blue rope hanging around his neck. Draco widened his eyes in sudden recognition.

 

“It's him then,” Hermione said, excited.

 

“I think so,” Draco said, woodenly, “he's a lot older, at least sixty. But the marks on his face and the clothes-”

 

The page boy haircut, skinny body and twisted mouth turned downward in bitterness; it all fit rather well into the description of one, greatly aged Maneasar Mescreance. He had even been wearing a ridiculous looking hat with three, big feathers stuck into it.

 

“The scars would be from smallpox I think,” Hermione said, “it was a rather nasty disease in the middle ages. Killed wizard and muggle alike, the survivors all had scars afterward for their whole lives. And then I found this-”

 

Hermione flipped around the book she had been reading with great effort and pointed her finger at the lines concerning the Hanged Man of Malfoy Manour. Draco moved the lanter closer to the book and began reading.

 

_Rumoured to be one of the oldest hauntings in Britain, outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the mysterious hanged man has no confirmed identity. The patriarch of Malfoy Manour (Abraxus Malfoy, at the time of this publication) graciously allowed access to some of the materials concerning this particular spectre. The story follows that the man hung himself at the top of the library tower in order to keep anyone from finding out a terrible secret – even beyond death. The origins of the blue rope around his neck have many different variations, all this researcher can confirm is that it prevents the ghost from speaking a word. Not even a lonely rasp can pass through this poor ghost's lips. The Department of Mysteries has even on occasion come calling to the Manour to investigate one of Britain's most confounding spectres. Since Malfoy Manour is not open to the public unless one is lucky enough to be invited to one of their fantastic balls, it's unlikely the mysterious story will ever be solved. However, in certain family annals it has been suggested that the ghost is none other than the founding father of the Malfoy family itself, Armand Malfoy. Considered quite a frightening man in his time, rumours of madness, brutal but brilliant acts and politically motivated intrigue have followed him even beyond the grave. In the annals of Crabbe, it was suggested that he had killed himself out of spite and convinced his wife to curse him silent to keep all his formidable magical discoveries to himself. If this identity were confirmed, he would easily be the oldest ghost on British soil living in private residence today._

 

“That's a wonderful bit of tripe,” Malfoy said.

 

“Look who wrote it,” Hermione said.

 

 _Myrto Gamp_ , it listed in black, neat print on the bottom of the article.

 

“It was a collaboration,” Hermione said, “it was likely her first published academic article way back in the eighties. This proves she made it into your home quite some time ago, likely under false pretences.”

 

“I sincerely doubt she could hoodwink my grandfather,” Draco said.

 

Unfortunately, it seemed all too likely. His grandfather was particularly easy to get started on stories about the family, long winded ones in particular. He was bursting with familial pride, as anyone would be if they had been born a Malfoy. But the whole incident was shaking his faith in his paternal line, Myrto Gamp was very clever and she had tricked his father, grandfather and nearly himself and perhaps, even Armand Malfoy.

 

“I'm not sure if she even got what she wanted,” Hermione said, “ or she'd be a lot farther along. But we might learn something from him. It would help if you could try to speak with him at Christmas. If it is who we think it is, then he might want badly to help. Salypso Slytherin was his friend and even though they parted on bad terms, he still cared for him even at the end. Myrto Gamp wants to exploit his secrets for her own gain, I doubt he'd appreciate her attempts if you explain what happened.”

 

“Granger,” Draco said, his voice shaking slightly, “doing anything to make Professor Gamp angry right now may not be wise.”

 

She cocked her head slightly, looking ludicrously like some kind of curious bushy haired lizard.

 

“Why is that?” she said.

 

“It's going to take some time to explain,” Draco said, weakly, “the invisibility cloak you lent me- I saw something quite strange.”

 

With difficulty, Draco explained what he had seen Professor Gamp do to Harry Potter and carefully omitted everything to do with Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore. Some things were too private to tell a swotty Ravenclaw.

 

Hermione Granger clutched her hands to her mouth and her eyes went as wide as saucers.

 

“Malfoy,” she said, practically hissing, “you have to tell someone what she's done!”

 

“And how would I explain that?” Draco demanded, “I happened to be wandering by the hospital wing on my way to sample some skele-grow? Certainly not, they'd definitely want Potter's invisibility cloak back and that's our only weapon against Professor Gamp's tyranny.”

 

“Listen to yourself, Harry could have died!” Hermione said, “Don't you care at all?”

 

“All I care about is my family,” Draco snapped, “the rest can fly with the hippogryffs!”

 

“Ooh!” Hermione said, “I regret lending you that cloak! Give it back! Or go away, how Harry could put up with you even for a moment I'll never understand!”

 

“I'll give you the cloak if you give me all of your notes,” Draco said, tartly.

 

“Not on your life,” Hermione said, “this is all we've got and when Harry gets better he'll want to see-”

 

“He's not seeing!” Draco said, nearly at a shout.

 

“Good grief,” Hermione said, “he won't think less of you because-”

 

“Don't say it!” Draco shrieked, then grabbed his own mouth in horror.

 

“Any louder and someone's going to find us out,” Hermione said.

 

Desperate and feeling rather aggravated, Draco lunged for the notes in Hermione's hands. They entered a sort of tug of war, each one trying to get what the other had until they went turning and tumbling near the restricted section. Both of them thundered directly into a Ravenclaw prefect who yelped at them both. Something went clattering from Hermione's bag and skittered down the dark library hall.

 

“What are you doing?” he shouted at them.

 

“None of your business!” Malfoy snapped back.

 

“I'm a prefect,” he tartly reminded them, “it is my business.”

 

“Prefects aren't supposed to be in the library past midnight either,” Hermione said, looking rather smug.

 

“Hermione Granger,” the prefect said, “I remember you. Top of your year the last and probably the same again this one. I don't know what you're doing spending time with Malfoy but if we both keep this quiet-”

 

But the most incredible thing happened. The Ravenclaw turned around and then froze, staring incredulously at the ground as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

 

“Is that a-,” he breathlessly said.

 

Hermione let out a cry.

 

“Don't look at its eyes,” Hermione said, “it's a basilisk! I read it in Theodore's notes!”

 

It was too late, there was a small mirror along the hallway and there in its reflection, the Ravenclaw boy saw the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life. He toppled over like a stone and Hermione let out a small scream. She had seen it too, unable to resist looking at the reflection. Frozen stiff soon after, Hermione Granger also hit the ground with a dull thud. Draco stood stone still, his eyes scrunched up tight. He pulled the invisiblity cloak from his bag and flung it over himself. He could hear the snake's heavy body moving quietly in the library, the shush of its scales menacing and hissing growing closer as it went.

 

Briefly, Draco wondered if it would be better to masquerade as a pureblood or a mudblood and if the basilisk could even tell such a thing, or of it was moved by the power of its master instead and neither mattered at all. Whether he stood still or not or kept his eyes shut, he was sure the gigantic creature would manage to eat him whole.

 

“Where is that boy?” the hissing voice of Professor Gamp could be heard in the silent library.

 

Draco didn't dare move, he could almost feel the scales sliding past him. The snake was probably trying to get to its petrified victims so it could properly eat them but it was being controlled by Professor Gamp who had other things in mind.

 

“Back into the pipes,” Professor Gamp whispered, “in you go, that's it. I'll feed you supper later, its too risky to eat them now. Filch is coming-!”

 

With the sound of something slithering and hissing away Professor Gamp and the giant monster had vanished. Draco carefully peeled open one eye and crept away under the cloak, keeping far away from Mrs. Norris and her beady, yellow eyes and her master's brightly lit lantern.

 

“There's been another attack!” Filch shouted, “Murder! _Murder!_ Two children! In the library!”

 

There was only one problem, Draco had to double back. Feeling the sweat drip down his neck, Draco carefully gathered Hermione Granger's notes when Filch was looking in the other direction and managed to creep away just as the thunderous footsteps of the Professors came up the stairs from all directions. Draco shakily made his way back to his dormitory, and nearly walked into Professor Snape. Without caring at all that the Professor was suspiciously looking at empty air, Draco ran for it all the way back to the dormitory.

 

Most of Hogwarts hadn't heard the alarm, the other students would be still asleep in their beds. Draco quietly removed the invisibility cloak and changed his clothes into pajamas. Then he curled up on his bed, pretended to be asleep and tried very hard not to cry. Instead of sleeping, he formed a plan to save himself all night until he dozed a few hours before dawn.

 

By morning, it had gone all over the school. Hermione Granger and Roger Davies, a fifth year prefect had been petrified. There was an immense sense of confusion, the original message threatened enemies of the heir but Roger Davies was a pure blood and Hermione Granger a muggle born. Just who exactly the Slytherin heir was targeting became an intense topic of debate.

 

During breakfast, while Draco Malfoy was sitting next to his friends Crabble and Goyle and listening to Pansy Parkinson snigger with Daphne over the mudblood girl that had gotten herself petrified, an owl flapped in and dropped a letter in front of him.

 

“I suppose your Mum is taking you to France,” Blaise asked, “mine wants to go Spain. There's nothing to do in Spain, I told her but she won't listen-”

 

Malfoy nodded casually and opened the letter, began reading and nearly dropped it in his kippers.

 

_Dear Draco,_

 

_There is business I must attend to during Christmas with some family friends, your mother will be accompanying me. I must request that you remain at Hogwarts and no matter what you hear, to keep your nose clean. Stay out of the way of Slytherin's Heir should they reappear (and it is likely they will) and keep to yourself. And don't forget to have one of the school elves polish your new winter boots over the holidays. Dobby has gone missing again, no doubt slumming around with his Hogwarts fellows. Punish him extra harshly if you should come across him._

 

_As always,_

_Your loving Father_

 

“Oh,” Malfoy said, “I suppose father has some important business to attend over the holidays. He suggested I stay here, instead. Mother surely isn't happy about that.”

 

Blaise was actually impressed, “I wonder what he's up to. Clever man, your father. Mum goes on and on about what he's done for us in the Wizangamot and against those awful blood traitors.”

 

Feeling mildly unwell, Draco put the letter into his pocket. His plan he had spent all night thinking up was almost rendered an impossibility in a single stroke. He would now have to come up with something else, and quickly.

 

The Christmas holidays were not only looking dreadful for Malfoy but also looking rather down for Harry Potter's family. Though his family were making a noble effort to appear relatively cheerful despite Harry's persistent pneumonia, none of Harry's beloved treacle tart was allowed. They brought presents and wholesome sweets like oatmeal biscuits that Madame Pompfrey allowed after looking over their ingredients and warm blankets from his bed at home. Tragically, the one thing they had hoped to count on to raise Harry's spirits had fallen through.

 

“I'd like to know what happened that kept Peter from coming,” Sirius said, for the hundredth time in a very loud, annoyed voice, “if I find out he's getting fat running around London eating crumbs from under muggle Christmas tables-”

 

“I'm sure it's nothing like that,” said Remus, quite reasonably, “he can't always tell us what he's up to. Nor can we tell him what we've been doing, that's just the way it works.”

 

“He had a very special Christmas present for Harry,” Lily said, “he would have been here if he were able, Sirius. Anyway, Harry is the most important person to consider right now. It must be quite dreadful being stuck in the hospital wing for so long. James, you're awfully peaky, are you feeling all right?”

 

“I'm all right, it was that damn boggart,” James said, shoulders tightening.

 

“Oh James,” Lily said, “I'm so sorry.”

 

When James had been found nearly collapsed against the study's walls, pale and shaking it had been up to Lily to banish the boggart. She had a much easier time than James, she had long resolved herself to meeting that particular fear head on. There was only one time it had been anything different and that was during Voldemort's first rise to power when the destruction of their entire family had almost seemed a sure thing.

 

“It bothered me when he was a boy, you know. All those colds! Not a thing to be done” James said, balancing the heap of presents with his wands as they lined up for the floo.

 

At that moment James paused in his arrangements and seem to flounder.

 

“I couldn't stop thinking about seeing him like that. When the Headmaster floo'd us I won't deny for a moment I thought the worst,” James stammered, “and that boggart upstairs in the desk drawer...funny that a silly boggart should shake me up so much but you can guess what I saw.”

 

Remus shook his head, “it's every parent's worst nightmare. I bet Molly and Arthur would have seen the same thing. Their children hurt -or worse. Harry has the best care imaginable and from the sounds of it, he's improving remarkably fast.”

 

“Let's not forget he's faced You Know Who twice now,” Sirius said, puffing up, “if you count the once when he was a babe in Lily's arms. And he's made it through living in Slytherin which is, quite frankly, more than I'd expected from that horrible house. He's a tough little blighter, Prongsy, he'll budge up and make it out all right.”

 

“Right,” James said, shoring himself up, “and I'm sure he'll be happy to see us with all these wonderful presents.”

 

“Precisely,” Lily said, her voice wavering only a little, “and we've all got to put on a brave face for him so he gets better more quickly.”

 

In Grimmauld place, Regulus Black sat by the fireplace that had warmed him as a boy and thought very deeply about gloomy subjects. From the doorway, Peter Pettigrew quietly crept in and added more logs to the fire.

 

“Perhaps he won't come,” Peter said, hopefully.

 

“It's too late to back out now,” Regulus said, “we're in too deep to get away, just like last time. The time before that-”

 

“I did get away,” Peter said, voice shaking, “it would do you well to remember that.”

 

“But look where it's led to,” Regulus said, his mouth twisted in a wry smile, “skulking about in my old home, praying for the worst to be over.”

 

“The only prayer I'm making is to the safety of my nephew,” Peter said, “that's all I care about.”

 

Regulus made a disgusted sound, “at least be honest with yourself. You're afraid, you've always been a coward ever since I saw you trailing after my brother and his idiot friends. If you were really brave you'd have run to James Potter by now, ratting me out.”

 

“And be killed on the spot,” Peter said, quietly, “would you do it, or that creature who found you in that dreadful place?”

 

“I would hardly hand over the expiration of such a wonderful credit to the wizarding establishment as yourself to the likes of him,” Regulus said.

 

“I can see why Sirius despised you so,” Peter snapped, “all the wit and the rot of your old Hogwarts house. A real credit to Slytherin-”

 

“Much better than your credit to old Godric!” Regulus snapped.

 

Their argument ceased as the lights began to flicker and light in the room dimmed. It suddenly became very cold and the fire seemed to sputter in its grate. Peter was terrifyingly reminded of Azkaban prison and the dementors that guarded it. He could see his breath in the air, feel his worst memories closing in on him, the sound of infant Harry crying for his mother, it was so cold...so cold....

 

“Don't lose your nerve,” Regulus said, “it's not a dementor, I promise you that.”

 

Shadows gathered into the room and began forming a body. This time it was Regulus who became pale, shaky and afraid. Across them far from the fire in an area of the room that had suddenly become darker than everywhere else, the form of a person finally solidified. Neither could see his face but they could see, just barely, the fire shining off the black leather of his tall boots. He sat with one leg over the other, hands on his lap, eyes blinking from the corner of the room like orange embers.

 

“It's been a while since I've called upon you Regulus,” the voice said, coming from everywhere and no where at once, “I was hoping for a much greater reception.”

 

“My Lord,” Regulus said, struggling to bow.

 

Peter had to help Regulus return to standing while his teeth chattered and strength almost failed him.

 

“I'm not the one you should be bowing to,” the voice became deeper, more threatening, “I tasked you with finding him. Have you? What good are you to me if you can't find a single, simple thing? I know he's here, the dead only talk of one thing these days and that is how it will happen again. The past repeating itself...”

 

“I did,” Regulus stuttered, “yes, I found him. We both did.”

 

Regulus hauled Peter Pettigrew to his side, as if presenting him to the stranger.

 

“I see,” the voice uttered, unconvinced.

 

“Peter made a dial, a measure,” Regulus continued, in a frantic tone, “he saw the dials go down to infinity, it all but screamed in that boy's presence. And he can see ghosts, muggle ghosts and wizarding ones and speak to them, as if it were nothing! He has strange powers, the natural talent in the dark arts. It must be true!”

 

“And what about Tom,” the voice asked, “has he seen Tom?”

 

“Once,” Regulus said, “it didn't go well. Neville Longbottom defeated him before either of them knew what they were looking at. And this business at Hogwarts to do with the Chamber-”

 

“I know what he's done, the secret diary. The old man raved about it when I went visiting, frail though he is. Without the old man's strength, Tom Riddle will no doubt fail again,” the voice said, “as it must be. He cannot be resurrected in this way, he is an ignorant fool to even try, to waste so much precious energy attempting to murder a little boy.”

 

“Not-not Harry,” Peter stammered.

 

“What could you possibly do if he chose to kill him?” the voice said smugly, “It's not for anyone but Salazar's heir to decide. The other one, he must be killed by Tom himself. If I were to help, all would be lost.”

 

“Why is that?” Regulus hedged.

 

“The prophecy,” the voice said, “that's all you need to know about it. Neither of you have any skill and poor Regulus has barely any life left in him after I got through with him in that cave so many years ago. You're both poor wizards, the dregs this modern world has to offer. _Le paradis l'infidel_ indeed, the old Prophet was right. The only paradise on this earth is for fools and children, Dumbledores and Grindenwalds. How dry and dull it must be for the brilliant to live in this century with nothing but idiots for company...”

 

The shadow figure stood so rapidly it seemed inhuman. Peter scrambled backwards and let out a little shout, the shadow had loomed menacingly towards him and the fire for a just a mere second illuminated its face – that face! Peter would remember it for all his days, it was so terrible.

 

“I happen to have a test far better than dials and wizarding whirligigs,” the voice said.

 

From the deepest blackness a hand extended outward and something gold and shimmering glinted from its fingers.

 

“Remember this, Regulus?” it said, “I plucked this from you as I watched the inferi try and have their way. Make sure the elf gives it to him. If it kills him, we'll know we were mistaken. But if he thrives, then I'll be back myself to see this nephew and his supposed power.”

 

The hand was bony, slimy and nearly green from mildew but from its long black nails hung a glittering gold necklace with a curved black 'S' on the front. Regulus snatched it from the creature's claws and held it close to his chest.

 

“Remember little wizards,” the voice hissed, “there are far worse things in this world than Dark Lords and their small punishments.”

 

And with that and to the sound of Peter's terrified shriek, he vanished into nothing. The fire became full again, the lights went on and it was as if a long depressing winter had suddenly lifted.

 

“What was that,” Peter demanded, “what is he? You never said he was a- a fiend from who knows where! You said he was a vampire!”

 

“Oh he is,” Regulus said, clutching the necklace close to his chest, “the first vampire I suspect, over a thousand years old. That is Salazar Slytherin's most faithful servant. Whatever magic made him, whoever cursed him into being – well, I'd hope to never meet them. He's nothing but pure evil, driven mad from being alive so long. His only motivation seems to be some deranged notion he must serve all of Salazar's heirs. Suffice to say, there haven't been many who have come forward to take him up on the offer, no matter how desperate.”

 

“And we've made a deal with that thing!” Peter shouted, “Is he or isn't he going to kill Harry? I've made a terrible mistake coming here! I should be in hospital, bringing him his presents, poor kind little Harry!”

 

Peter began wringing his hands and moaning in despair as Regulus sat staring into the fire. His face was grim but determined.

 

“Listen to me, Peter,” Regulus said, “you and I were on the wrong end of history and though we each tried to redeem ourselves in our own way, there was little hope to be seen. And Albus Dumbledore has precious little patience remaining for both of us, it would only be a matter of time before we were sunk entirely. This is an opportunity to turn our lives around.”

 

“I won't let them kill him,” Peter said, voice shaking, “I don't care a wit about the Boy Who Lived or any of the others but they can't have him-!”

 

“Listen to yourself Peter,” Regulus said, holding up the glinting gold necklace to the fire light, “do you think he'd love you if you helped kill his parents?”

 

“I'd make him love me!” Peter shouted, “If it kept him alive! He's so trusting and kind and in Slytherin house, that cursed house! The hat must have malfunctioned, he belonged in Gryffindor where I was sorted! So good and so brave! And I know he's noticed it in me, too! The first time anyone has ever! It's brave isn't it? To fight to survive!”

 

“You're not a survivor Peter,” Regulus said quietly, “and I rather like Harry myself, I can see my own faults and strengths in that little boy. I rather think the hat made an astute decision, he's so very clever for his age and perceptive, far beyond my brother's abilities to notice. I'd rather Harry grow up, no matter what horrors lie in wait for him if he does. But I don't care about what happens to the Potters or anyone else, which is why I brought you in on this mess. Imagine if his family were killed and Snape happened to disappear, why, we'd be the only ones he's got, wouldn't we?”

 

Peter backed down, his hands still shaking.

 

“That's something then,” Peter said, “there's some hope for us, yet.”

 

“There's nothing more we can do right now for ourselves or Harry but wait,” Regulus said, the locket shining, “and see what happens.”

 

In the hospital wing, Harry was putting on his robes and tying his Slytherin green scarf around his neck. It was a relief he was allowed back into his dorm room, especially since Hermione Granger had been petrified. A stack of potions bottles sat next to his bedside and he barely suppressed a sigh while looking at them.

 

“Take your potions at regular intervals,” Madame Pompfrey warned him as he left, “don't over exert yourself in any way and most importantly, absolutely no quidditch!”

 

Before leaving, Harry allowed himself a look at Hermione's petrified form. It appeared as though she had been caught by a great surprise but also intrigued by what she had been seeing. Hermione had told him, before Madame Pompfrey had forbade visitors, that she had come across something to help Malfoy and they were investigating it. Shortly after Harry had taken a turn for the worse and she hadn't been able to tell him exactly what they had found since. There was no helping it, he'd have to ask Malfoy directly.

 

“Welcome back,” Millicent said to him, “glad you're feeling better.”

 

The common room was bustling in the morning, everyone wanted to get their things ready and be off to class on time.

 

“It's good to be back,” Harry said, “thanks for the present Milli. You too, Ginny.”

 

“Oh!” Ginny said, flushing, “you're welcome.”

 

Millicent and Ginny had given Harry a rather expensive set of coloured inks for drawing as a Christmas gift. Of course, it was clear Millicent had shouldered the greater cost since Ginny could barely afford robes or books for school. But it was a nice gesture, and anyway it meant that Ginny hadn't the sickles to buy Blaise a present so Harry was feeling particularly cheerful about the gift. Even if he'd had to shove the shrill, shrieking 'get well' card that went with it under his pillow in the hospital wing to shut it up.

 

“How were the holidays?” Millicent asked Ginny.

 

“It was all right,” Ginny said, “the usual. I'm just glad Ron isn't a spider anymore, it would have been dreadful feeding him rats while all his favourite foods were on the table. What about yours?”

 

“Oh,” Millicent said, “Mum decided she was going to visit the Crabbes-”

 

“Really?” Harry said, surprised, “Are your families friends?”

 

“Not exactly,” Millicent said, she scooped up her books and began to explain as they made their way to the herbology classroom.

 

“Mum's father was a Crabbe by birth but he was married off to my Grandmum who was a proud Bulstrode. By the time Mum married my Dad, she had passed away years ago. Since the Bulstrodes are matriarchal it meant no one could say anything about it, including Grandad. Grandad is a bit dotty these days and not in the best of health but he wants everyone in the house at Christmas- except myself and my father of course.”

 

“That's horrible,” Ginny said, “I'm so sorry.”

 

“Oh it's nothing,” Millicent said, sniggering, “something Dad likes to tease Mum about when she comes home. Can you imagine what dinner at the Crabbe's is like? Grandmum was quite the lady but the rest of them -ugh! I'm glad I take after my parents and not that branch of the family.”

 

It was true that most older wizarding families were all interrelated if one looked far back enough, curiously Harry wondered which branches of his family had been friendly with whom in the distant past. There were even a few names on Sirius' family tapestry that had surprised him, when he last looked at it. Ginny had to leave them to go her first class so they split up once they had passed the great hall. Herbology was first and Harry felt rather out of sorts having been away for so long.

 

“What are we on?” Harry asked Millicent.

 

“Last class before hols was cancelled before Christmas,” Millicent said, “so I'm not entirely sure. Oh look, there's Tracey! You're on your own, Harry. Good luck.”

 

Harry watched her go meet her friends entirely frustrated.

 

“Hello,” a glum voice said.

 

“Oh,” Harry said, “Morning, Terry. Kicked out of your old study group again?”

 

“Twice this week,” Terry said, “I think they're looking for reasons at this point.”

 

The small group of boys were glowering at Terry, then quickly looked away when Draco Malfoy strode into the room.

 

“What are you doing here,” Malfoy demanded, “you're supposed to be at my table.”

 

“Thanks but no thanks,” Harry said.

 

Malfoy hadn't given him so much as a card and he was regretful to think that it had actually stung, just a little. Granted, Malfoy wasn't looking terribly well himself, something was clearly bothering him if his wan complexion was anything to go by.

 

“Oi,” Terry said, “he just got out of hospital.”

 

“And?” Malfoy said, his nose held high, “is that supposed to warrant a medal?”

 

“No,” Terry said, slowly, as though speaking to someone very thick, “but friends usually ask other friends how they're feeling.”

 

“Potter's fine,” Malfoy said, “clearly. Come on, over here.”

 

“Let go!” Harry said, annoyed.

 

“He clearly doesn't want to!” Terry said, “Let him go!”

 

He really didn't want to sit with Terry or Malfoy but since Hermione and Theodore were petrified, he had little choice. Terry grabbed his other arm and began a rather unfortunate tug of war.

 

“What's gotten into you?” Harry snapped at Malfoy.

 

It was certainly the first time Malfoy so desperately wanted Harry's company he was willing to make a scene for it.

 

“Both of you stop it right now,” Millicent shouted at them, “or I'll wallop whoever I reach first!”

 

Some rather loud titters were heard from the Slytherin girl's table but Pansy Parkinson wasn't smiling, she scowled at Harry who glared at her right back before shaking off Draco's arm.

 

Professor Sprout had just entered the greenhouse and everyone clammed up and settled back into their places. Another girl joined their table, along with a chubby, black haired boy Harry hadn't recalled noticing before. The equipment was doled out and everyone had on their thick gloves and sunglasses to work with glowing thistles.

 

“Remember to put on your safety sunglasses,” Professor Sprout warned them all, “we're re-potting young thistles today, the only edible variety. Any older and they could seriously harm a grown witch or wizard, any redder and they'd be liable to temporarily blind someone with their root lights. I can however, happily state they're very delicious in a stew.”

 

Trying to work out his frustration on the nettles, Harry quickly realized they put up quite a fight when putting them into a new pot. Their roots were like small, glowing arms that held quite fast to the edges of the pottery.

 

“This is Li,” Terry said, gesturing to the girl, “and that's Entwhistle.”

 

“Hello,” Li said, she smiled at Harry, “I recognize you. You're the famous auror's son, Harry Potter.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, attempting to wrangle his thistle and not look too cross at the same time.

 

“It's easier with two people,” Entwhistle offered quietly, “Mum grows these at home.”

 

They had almost gotten it in the pot when the thistle flung itself off the edge and began running around the greenhouse at top speed. Goyle laughed dully at the sight and Harry felt a hot, creeping embarrassment settling into his stomach.

 

“I suppose herbology isn't your strongest subject,” Li said, primly.

 

With an angry rush flooding his cheeks, Harry fought back his own frustrated tears.

 

“Whatever,” Terry Boot said, “come on Harry, we can catch it with a stunning spell.”

 

By the time they had recaptured the thistle to the sniggering of Harry's entire Slytherin year and managed to re-pot the rest, the class was just about over. It was a rather low start and when Terry Boot ran off with a 'see you, Harry!” and left him to his own devices and the tender mercies of Draco Malfoy, Harry wasn't feeling particularly cheery any longer.

 

“What was that all about?” Malfoy demanded.

 

“What was what all about?” Harry shot back.

 

“I might have wanted to talk to you about something important,” Malfoy hissed, “and getting you into my group was a sure way to do it.”

 

“With Crabbe and Goyle right there,” Harry said, he snorted, “hardly likely.”

 

“Oh, then I suppose it's because you're so wonderful at herbology,” Malfoy said with dripping sarcasm, “even The Clot Who Lived can manage to re-pot a thistle.”

 

It was the last straw, Harry flew past his other classmates heading towards the dungeon and stormed down the hall into the abandoned girl's bathroom. He only just slammed the door on the stall before the tears began to fall...and fall...they wouldn't stop. It must have been an hour or more and the tears still kept on going. His robe sleeve became all snotty, Harry hadn't thought to bring his kerchief.

 

“Little mudblood ought to be in school,” the familiar voice said, “being the heir to the noble house is hard work. Ought to be in classes and not skivving off, the way that one used to do.”

 

“Kreacher?” Harry said, perplexed.

 

He had almost forgotten all about Regulus' suggestion to call on Kreacher if he had any trouble. In fact, having a house elf was such a novelty that he hadn't thought about it again since the help had first been offered. Not since he had found Cedric in this very same bathroom with Kreacher looming over him. And after that, so many dreadful things had happened.

 

Opening the stall door, Harry peered into the gloomy, dim bathroom and looked down at the agitated house elf who was busily wringing a dirty cloth in its hands.

 

“Kreacher brought the young master's charge a present,” Kreacher said, “Master Regulus' is saying the filthy mudblood boy ought to have it.”

 

Apparently time with Regulus hadn't softened Kreacher's more extreme views on Harry's family.

 

“I suppose I best take it then,” Harry said, reasonably.

 

Kreacher glared at him, “it's an heirloom, not for mudblood filth. But Regulus was firm so I has to give it to him.”

 

The dirty rag was dropped into Harry's hand. Inside of it was a golden locket, it looked very old and quite tarnished. There was a swirling, black 'S' engraved on the front.

 

“Whoah,” Harry said, he wasn't much for jewelry but the locket was impressive.

 

“Put it around its neck,” Kreacher said, wringing his hands, “then Kreacher can go back to his proper master.”

 

Harry shrugged and unlocked it, draping it around his neck and letting it fall under his robe. The locket felt warm against his cool skin and then, Harry felt very strange.

 

The bathroom blurred and Kreacher disappeared. It was as if Harry was remembering something he had forgotten, the strange feeling of his legs and arms moving without him telling them to. A voice whispered in a language he couldn't understand saying 'Open Up' and then the bathroom sink turning...turning...

 

“ _Voldemort?”_

 

The sick sounding whisper snapped him out of it. Harry felt the memories skitter away like spiders through the halls. Once his head cleared he looked to his left by the door and felt hot in the face. There stood Malfoy looking utterly ashen and staring at Harry as though he couldn't believe his eyes.

 

“This is the girl's bathroom,” Harry said, trying to sound reasonable, “but people don't use it much so I thought -remedial potions and all.”

 

Malfoy's hand trembled, and he pointed behind Harry.

 

Turning slowly, Harry realized what had shocked Malfoy so much. The sink had opened up, there was a gigantic hole in the floor spiralling down into the dark.

 

“It's happened again,” Malfoy said.

 

“What's happened,” Harry said, swallowing thickly.

 

“It's really you?” Malfoy said, sounding much more like himself, “and not- not-”

 

“Who did you think it was?” Harry felt a lump growing in his throat that was very much like panic.

 

He had some idea who it could be but it had felt like a memory. Something that had happened, something that wasn't happening at that very moment. Perhaps he had spoken the word to open it out loud by accident...

 

“Of course she took him out of you,” Malfoy said, “so he can't be here. Then how-!”

 

Malfoy backed up away from Harry as though he were terribly afraid.

 

“Dark magic?” Malfoy said.

 

“What are you going on about?” Harry said frustrated, “Where does the hole go-”

 

But he knew where it went, just as surely as he knew the words that had made it happen deep inside.

 

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said, his mouth going dry, “but why?”

 

The golden locket felt heavy against his chest but Kreacher was no where to be found.

 

“We have to get the professors,” Harry said, “even they couldn't find the chamber! Now we know where it is!”

 

“No!” Malfoy said, panic entering his voice, “We can't tell Professor Gamp she's-”

 

Malfoy stumbled over his words and began sweating.

 

“She'll kill us!” Malfoy said, “We're standing in her way. I'm standing in her way!”

 

“I sincerely doubt she'd murder us in front of the whole school!” Harry said.

 

“Then she'd wait until we could be petrified,” Malfoy said, desperately, “just like she did with Granger and I've got her notes!”

 

“Malfoy,” Harry said sharply, “tell me everything that's happened or I'm going to get the professor's right now!”

 

It took a lot of explaining but Harry couldn't believe the story he was hearing. That Malfoy had been using the invisibility cloak to spy on Professor Gamp, that he had found out terrible things about his family with Hermione's help and that the Professor now had Voldemort's power in a crystal ball. But there was quite a lot Malfoy wasn't telling him, as if he couldn't bare to say it out loud.

 

“It might be easier to give me Hermione's notes after this,” Harry said reasonably.

 

“No!” Malfoy shouted, “I don't know whose side you're on!”

 

The pressure was apparently making Malfoy go spare.

 

“I'm on your side, you great prat!” Harry shouted.

 

At the worst possible moment they heard the familiar tapping of shoes on the old stone floors.

 

“Hello,” Professor Gamp's cheerful voice was quite possibly the worst thing Harry had ever heard in his life, “is there someone in there? Some boy someone’s in a girl's bathroom? That's an awful lot of points taken if it's true.”

 

The noise that came from Malfoy was somewhere between a hiss and a surprised shriek, he stumbled backwards in a panic and then, to Harry's utter despair, went tumbling down the black hole by the bathroom sink.

 

“Draco!” Harry shouted, lunging towards the hole.

 

But it had already begun to close and no amount of pushing, shoving or badly pronounced parseltongue would make it stop once it began to seal itself shut. The noise drowned out by Draco's shout must have been Professor Gamp's hissing voice. No wonder she had scared him so badly.

 

“I suppose it's for the best,” Professor Gamp's voice was calm and collected, “it would be a shame to let our little secret get out, just yet.”

 

Slowly, Harry turned around. Professor Gamp had her wand pointed at Harry and a viperous smile on her face.

 

 


	20. The Heir of Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't done this is so long, I almost forgot how to. Hi. Things were happening and I think I wrote this chapter 5 lines at a time some nights but I knew eventually it would get done, so here we are. Even if it takes me a decade I'll finish the story, so no worries about abandonment. We've come much too far, dear readers, to leave slytherin Harry anytime soon. Enjoy!

**The Heir of Slytherin**

 

“A fall like that wouldn't have killed him,” Professor Gamp said, “there's a bit of a slope, it leads down into a mangy tunnel full of small skeletons. There's no basilisk but there are an awful lot of frightening things to a twelve year old. Even one who grew up in a house filled with dark magic.”

 

Beyond all reason, though Harry knew he should be terribly afraid, he felt a chilling calm descend over him. Draco Malfoy was likely to be still alive, it wasn't completely hopeless.

 

“You tricked the ravenclaws into doing all that work for you,” Harry said, “and petrified Hermione Granger when she started telling everyone about it.”

 

“But I didn't let it eat her,” Professor Gamp said, “I'm not merciless. You, on the other hand, were under Tom Riddle's power. I bet poor Theodore didn't know what was coming to him and it was only Hagrid's knowledge of his whereabouts that saved him.”

 

Even if it were true, hearing it out loud made Harry feel dreadful. Professor Gamp stepped closer towards him as Harry stepped back.

 

“The only problem is that the basilisk will eventually return,” Professor Gamp said, “and when it does, Draco Malfoy won't stand a chance. His parents will be devastated by his death, how sad.”

 

Clenching his fists, Harry glared at his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His eyes couldn't help but glance at her satchel, it glittered with a star pattern that resembled her dress. But inside was a glowing circle, a strange magical object, the grave goblet that held Voldemort's ghost.

 

“Why do you hate Mr. Malfoy so much?” Harry asked.

 

“The whole affair began as a bit of a revenge story,” Professor Gamp said, “I had a friend that was treated badly so I thought maybe I could turn things around- but when I discovered Armand Malfoy, it became something more. _The truth_ , Potter! It's an addiction when you realize the world is nothing but lies propped up by interested parties and the one with the power is the one with the truth held in check. People like your mother and father would pale at the things I've done to discover the truth, which is why someone like me must be the one to do it. Unfortunately,” Professor Gamp said, “I am rather behind, thanks to Headmaster Dumbledore's meddling. I think Dumbledore had a few suspicions as to why I would take the job. The position is of course, rumoured to be cursed.”

 

“Bet he saw right through you,” Harry said, hollowly.

 

Professor Gamp scowled at him, “he certainly has kept an annoying close watch on my activities since school. Did you know I was nearly expelled? Only your mother's kind interference saved me and that wasn't the first time I managed to get myself into trouble, your mother always stood up for me. She was very good at that, taking care of those she saw as lesser.”

 

“Mum doesn't see anyone as lesser,” Harry snapped.

 

“Oh please,” Professor Gamp said, “how else would she have tolerated me trailing after her constantly and her being Professor Snape's very best friend? He wasn't the kindest boy during school. Someone so pretty and kind chumming around with a junior death eater half the time, well it didn't seem right to me. I had to put a stop to it. So I ran and told your father all about it and well, being such a hot headed buffoon he went straight to it. Poor Severus had no idea why he was such a sudden and cruel target of all their pranks, although I must say, he certainly gave back as well as he got.”

 

“Professor Snape's not a death eater,” Harry said, he was fairly certain that he wouldn't have been allowed back into Hogwarts if that were the case.

 

Professor Gamp had somewhat of a wistful smile on her face.

 

“Oh he was,” she said, “one of the worst. Until he turned spy. But those happy times are over,” the professor said, her voice catching a bit, “my time is running out, like an hour glass that has sand stuck at the neck but would empty at the slightest shake. And I don't really want to hurt you but needs must.”

 

“They'll notice,” Harry said desperately, “if I disappear. The ghosts-”

 

“You'll find them very distracted at the moment by someone who has arrived at Hogwarts unexpectedly. It's the living I fear, the good Professor has been keeping a rather close eye on me,” Professor Gamp said, “especially since some of his precious potions stores went missing.”

 

It was the face behind the face that Harry was seeing, like a flickering image in a candle. Without question Harry realized Professor Gamp must have been wearing a very strong glamour. He was a little afraid to find out why, he doubted the reasons were as ordinary as a few spots that wouldn't vanish without a potion. The grave goblet glinted in Professor Gamp's satchel, the magic inside swirling in a peculiar way.

 

“I'm not fond of killing children,” Professor Gamp said, “but Draco Malfoy must die. And unfortunately, I must find a way to deal with you until the work is done. You know far too much, you're far too dangerous to keep around any longer.”

 

“Why does Draco have to die?” Harry said, shocked by her admission.

 

“Because the only way Salypso's laboratory can be opened is with a Malfoy's life,” Professor Gamp said, “And I need a distraction!”

 

Perhaps Harry had expected the basilisk to come crawling from the chamber and petrify him on the spot. Instead, Professor Gamp did something rather inexplicable. She raised the grave goblet from her star dotted bag in her hand and allowed it to explode.

 

_Voldemort!_

 

Harry screamed and hid his face.

 

“Enjoy being devoured and discarded by the darkest wizard Europe has ever known,” Professor Gamp said, “the power to open the chamber is nothing compared to the power to open Salypso's door. Oh, and while your mother is certainly my oldest and truest friend, I never liked your father overmuch. Goodbye, Potter.”

 

It was a terrible, sickening feeling. Harry felt cold and trembling all at once. It was as if some great battle were being fought, he staggered forward until he nearly fell against the sink, clutching the porcelain.

 

Lifting his head he could see his own reflection, pale and terrified. But there in the darkness was someone else, a young man he recognized.

 

“Why,” Harry said, “did I see you in the mirror?”

 

“What mirror,” Tom Riddle said, his mouth twisted in an evil smile, “Harry Potter.”

 

Shaking, Harry tried to separate his feelings from Tom Riddle's. He wouldn't be taken over, he refused to be washed away by a phantom memory that had been trapped in an old book. Rallying himself, he still felt the hot tears slide down his cheek from the painful effort.

 

“Erised,” Harry said, pained, clutching his chest, “I just wanted a friend!”

 

“I don't have friends,” Tom Riddle said.

 

Harry gathered every ounce of his strength and faced Tom Riddle.

 

“I was stupid because,” Harry said, “I thought I didn't have any friends. But I did, Theodore and Millicent and Ginny...”

 

“I'm sure they'll mourn your inevitable death,” Tom Riddle said.

 

But Tom Riddle did have a friend, Harry realized with a powerful horror, even if he refused to admit it. And suddenly, it all made a terrible sense.

 

Professor Gamp was being played by Hadrian Nott, who was playing Lucius Malfoy.

 

There had been the attack on the book shop just after Professor Gamp had left, the strange emphasis on aurors capturing Theodore Nott when he hadn't done anything wrong, even the victims of petrification were a mix, pure-bloods and half-bloods and muggle born alike to scatter allegiance, to turn people against each other. So everyone would be looking in another direction. But there was something Harry was missing, the motive to do such a thing. The reason why it was so important to keep everyone's attentions elsewhere, away from some singular plot.

 

It was such a strange, light headed feeling all that awful fear. But Harry could hold onto it, the terror felt like a real thing inside of him.

 

“What is this?” Tom Riddle said, leaning down to look at Harry, taking his chin in a rather rough hold.

 

The most evil wizard in the world flinched when Harry grabbed his wrist. It felt like tearing at something, ripping it apart. Harry could see the strings pulling away and gently the drowsy sensation fell backwards like a lowering tide. Finally, it was done. Harry was himself again.

 

“ _Got you,”_ Harry said.

 

And he knew he did. Tom Riddle vanished with an expression on his face Harry could only call hatefully surprised.

 

Tom Riddle was still trapped inside Harry, he could feel all the rage and anger swirling around in his guts like an angry tornado. But he was sure he could hold it off, after all, he had to until he could rescue Draco.

 

Shivering from what he had done and certain that it wouldn't end well, Harry rushed towards his charms class. If he was late again, it would cause suspicion about his health and then he'd never get Madame Pompfrey away from him with her potions.

 

“What's this?” Professor Flitwick said, concerned, “it's half past!”

 

“I was-erhm,” Harry stammered, “helping Professor Gamp with something. You can ask her if you like.”

 

“My she is quite the accomplished lady,” Professor Flitwick said, a faint blush coming to his cheeks, “No problem at all, Mr. Potter. You're well ahead in my class, even with your current absences. ahem! To continue from where we left off, we're covering cheering charms.”

 

“Might do him some good to learn a few,” Blaise muttered, “he looks like he's been to someone's funeral. By the way, have you seen Draco, Pansy?”

 

Pansy shook her head but narrowed her eyes in Harry's direction.

 

“I haven't but last I heard he was trying to find Potter,” she said, “that was hours ago.”

 

Quite a few Slytherin heads turned in his direction but Harry tried to remain as calm looking as he possibly could, under the circumstances. One small slip and Draco Malfoy would be doomed.

 

After class he nearly ran to the abandoned bathroom and called for the one person who could help him. It was awfully cold, and the damp crept right through to Harry's bones.

 

“Kreacher!” Harry hissed, hoping that whatever laws governed house elves meant he could hear him somehow, “Kreacher! I need your help!”

 

There was a loud pop and out from behind a dingy toilet stall, Kreacher peered at him.

  
“What's the young master's charge wanting?” Kreacher rasped.

 

“I have a friend in trouble,” Harry said, “who needs things.”

 

“I won't be helping a friend of any mudblood's!” Kreacher raged, “Foul loathsome things! My mistress, oh poor mistress-!”

 

Kreacher began wailing into his loin cloth.

 

“The heir to the Black's asking for charity for his foul friends! If she could see poor Kreacher now!” he sobbed ever harder.

 

“Oh stop it!” Harry snapped at him. “It's Malfoy! Draco Malfoy! His family is being blackmailed and-”

 

Harry staggered in his explanation, he couldn't say too much but he also couldn't say too little or the demented house elf wouldn't do a thing to help at all.

 

“Draco's family is related to your former masters! Would you really want someone to say they're mudbloods a thousand years ago? That's what someone is trying to do and Draco caught up to them, so now he's in danger-!”

 

Harry felt distinctly oily after saying such a thing but Kreacher ceased his wailing and regarded Harry with something uncomfortably like awe.

 

“Harry Potter has made a proper friend,” Kreacher simpered, “Harry Potter, the little heir to the young master, has finally been taught proper things by a proper wizard!”

 

“Can you help him, or not,” Harry demanded, he'd had quite enough of Kreacher for an afternoon.

 

“I can help him,” Kreacher said, pawing at Harry's leg, “I can bring food and clothes to the young Malfoy and anything else he needs.”

 

“It has to be absolutely secret,” Harry said, “no one can know. Draco's life depends on it.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Kreacher said, nearly purring, his old decrepit head rubbing tragically against Harry's trouser leg, “serving a proper wizard is Kreacher's job.”

 

Now that he knew Draco wasn't in danger of starving to death he could get Hermione's notes before Professor Gamp. He had no doubt Professor Gamp would be very distracted when she heard that Harry was quite well and hadn't begun dragging off any muggleborns into the chamber.

 

It was easy finding them in Draco's organized things. In Draco's cubby they were tied neatly in a gigantic stack with a quantity of black, silky ribbon. The ribbon, Harry was sure, had come from Draco who probably hadn't thought of using simple muggle twine before in his life.

 

“Oi, Potter,” Crabbe said, he must have been back in the dorm for a while, “what are you doing here? I've got something I've been meaning to ask you.”

 

Almost delirious from the panic over being caught, Harry didn't catch what Crabbe was trying to say to him, at first.

 

“What?” Harry said, not believing his luck when Crabbe repeated himself.

 

“Do you suppose I could keep it,” Crabbe said, “it's nastier than a puffskein and looks a lot tougher. I had a puffskein once but my Dad wasn't much for it, not mean enough he said, so he squashed it flat.”

 

Harry stared at him blankly, “sure.”

 

Not that he wanted his single, greatest flirtation with the ban against breeding magical creatures in the hands of Crabbe but he was about ready to do anything to get rid of him.

 

“I can't promise it won't get squashed but if there's trouble I'll see if I can't hand it over to Goyle first.”

 

“All right. But be careful to feed it properly and don't let it attach itself to anyone's fingers or they'll be stuck in the hospital wing for an hour, and I doubt Professor Snape will be much for it,” Harry reminded him.

 

“That's brilliant,” Crabbe said, his mean face looking much more cheerful, “thanks loads.”

 

Harry clutched Hermione's notes to his chest, Crabbe paid them no mind or the fact they had come from Draco's trunk.

 

“Right then,” Harry said, “see you later.”

 

Harry rarther quickly darted out of the dorms before anyone else happened upon him.

 

The only place where he could work through a massive pile of papers without suspicion was the Hogwarts library. It was mostly abandoned since two petrified students had been found there but there a few stalwart Ravenclaws lurked in the stacks that Harry had to be mindful of.

 

At the very back, Harry spread out Hermione's notes and began reading. He didn't stop until Madame Pince nearly kicked him out because it was nearing nine o'clock and by that time he had read them over twice already. The entire story was unbelievable, it was amazing! It was all he could think about as made his way back to his common room.

 

“Hi Harry,” Ginny said.

 

“Hello,” Harry said, all he wanted to do was to think about what he just read but Millicent and Ginny were sitting in his spot expectantly.

 

“What's all that?” Millicent said, aghast at the size of Hermione's papers, “Is that your catch up homework?”

 

“Oh, erhm no,” Harry said, “a project Hermione left me I haven't had the chance to read yet.”

 

“I suppose there's no rush since she's been petrified,” Ginny said, “I was awfully sorry to hear that, Ron was upset too.”

 

“Why'd he be upset,” Harry said, sourly, “not like she's his friend.”

 

Ginny frowned, “well she is, actually. She was spending time with Neville and Ron when she wasn't being hounded by Malfoy over something. Funny though, I haven't seen him lately, either.”

 

“Who knows where he is,” Millicent said, darkly, “who cares.”

 

“Exactly,” Harry said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

 

“A lot of people find it strange Malfoy was looking for Potter, actually,” Blaise said, rather loudly, “in fact, a few of the older boys think Potter is actually the Heir of Slytherin.”

 

Quite a few Slytherin boys and girls turned their heads and curiously regarded Harry, as though staring at him hard enough might reveal the truth. It took every nerve Harry had not to give himself away, the ghost of Tom Riddle rattled around inside him, mirthful over Harry's discomfort.

 

“That's rubbish,” Ginny said, shooting up from her seat, her face going red, “anyone who believes a stupid rumour like that has gone spare in the head. His mum is a muggleborn!”

 

“And you're his friend even though you're a pureblood,” Blaise said haughtily, “so there's nothing for you to worry about either way. It's just a mighty coincidence that these people are all somehow linked to Potter before their disappearances and his father is an auror- no one would think it was him even if it was, would they? With all these laws being passed in the wizangamot against purebloods it would do just fine to suddenly have a reason to hate them by bringing up Salazar's old legend. I'd be careful Bulstrode, if you catch him up to something inconvenient, you might be next.”

 

Whispered hisses like _blood traitor_ and _muggle father_ followed after, Millicent rose from her seat looking meaner than Harry had ever seen.

 

“I wouldn't say things like that too loudly,” Millicent said, “besides, everyone knows about your Mum and she's got a lot worse going for her than muggle relations, like seven dead husbands and all that gold she got afterwards.”

 

“My mother's dead husbands are a lot less of a scandal than your best friend's father,” Blaise retorted sharply, “scrawny, scrappy Theodore followed by his own personal troll for protection because his Daddy is sick in the head. It's a rather charming picture! I bet there's going to be wedding bells any day now.”

 

Some of the boys made rather loud retching noises, as though it were the most disgusting thing they had ever heard. Millicent took out her wand.

 

“Duel! Duel!” an ambitious sixth year cried to the cheers of his friends.

 

“Bulstrode's thick,” a girl said, “not like she's going to win against Blaise.”

 

“I suppose without looks or brains one has to get boyfriends where one can,” Greengrass said.

 

“Oh that's awful,” Pansy giggled, then she whispered something to Tracey who began to giggle with them.

 

The crushed look on Millicent's face made Harry feel a sympathetic pang.

 

“Piss off, the lot of you!” Millicent said, rather loudly.

 

The noise in Slytherin quickly dulled when Professor Snape barrelled in, robe flapping behind him. Both Millicent and Blaise pocketed their wands in a flash.

 

“Silence this instant!” Proffesor Snape said.

 

“Millicent said something awful to Blaise,” Pansy said, “and Potter was encouraging it. She even swore!”

 

“That's a lie!” Ginny shouted.

 

“That's enough Parkinson, Weasley,” Professor Snape said sharply, “save your childish whinging for a more appropriate time. There's been another attack. Colin Creevey was found petrified along with Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw prefect. Remain silent until I receive word from the headmaster.”

 

Ginny gasped, she had of course met Colin Creevey once or twice when spending time with her brother Ron near Gryffindor tower.

 

“See?” Millicent said, “Potter was here the whole time.”

 

“No he wasn't,” Blaise said, looking terribly smug, “he wasn't here when they were petrified, he was only here when they were found.”

 

“Anyone with half a brain,” Millicent said, her temper frayed, “would know Theodore was Harry's best friend and he wouldn't petrify his friends!”

 

“I said enough!” Professor Snape snarled at them, teeth bared like an animal.

 

Millicent's face crumpled a bit while Ginny tried to comfort her by putting her hand on her arm.

 

“I'm all right,” Millicent snapped, she crossed her arms and looked stubbornly at the ground.

 

Pansy, Tracey and Daphne Greengrass were all whispering together and Harry was sure that if it were possible, Millicent would have abandoned the common room for her dorm that instant. Instead the whole of Slytherin house was gathered around the common room fire waiting in uneasy silence for what to do next.

 

“Severus,” the voice of the Headmaster echoed from the floo, “if you wouldn't mind joining me here, along with Harry Potter. There are some things we ought to discuss.”

 

The entire Slytherin common room erupted.

 

“I knew it was him!” Pucey said.

 

“It can't be!” Ginny tried to shout over the din, “It wouldn't be! You're being foolish!”

 

But she was clearly worried because of course, she had known about what happened with Harry and the diary the first time around.

 

“Silence!” Professor Snape's voice boomed, “And I mean it. Anyone who speaks out of turn will be receiving a month's worth detention.”

 

The room went as still as if _silencio_ had been cast over it.

 

“To quell certain foolish tendencies, I will tell you this for certain. Mr. Potter isn't the one opening the chamber of secrets,” Professor Snape said, “and not a single one of you needs to know anything more about the situation than that until I return. Do you understand? Prefects, take care of bed check and make sure every single person is accounted for in their dorm rooms.”

 

“Malfoy's still missing,” Pansy said quickly.

 

“That's none of your concern,” Professor Snape said cooly, “a month's detention Miss Parkinson.”

 

“ _No!”_ she gasped, clutching her hand over her mouth, thankfully Professor Snape chose to ignore her second outburst.

 

All the Slytherin students shuffled with a distinct air of uneasiness but none were more nervous than Harry, who had no idea why he might have been called into the Headmaster's office along with the professor if not about the opening of the chamber.

 

Following the Professor from the common room had never seemed so grim, swirling and terrible thoughts were filling Harry's head. Perhaps Headmaster Dumbledore had saw fit to expel him after all, much more likely in Harry's opinion was that someone had got wind of what he had done under Tom Riddle's influence and forced the Headmaster to get rid of him. It was almost torture being led into the Headmaster's office and then made to wait for an unbearable ten minutes with the Professor in the small anteroom until finally, they were called.

 

Unfortunately, to their mutual surprise, they were greeted by a rather pale Lucius Malfoy.

 

“Lucius,” the Professor said.

 

“The Headmaster has been,” Lucius paused, “revoked. By the board of governor’s you see. He summoned you both just after he confirmed that Draco had disappear-”

 

Lucius it seemed could hardly continue, he took a deep breath and pressed his hand to his mouth and then seemed to regain some shred of control.

 

“I see,” Professor Snape said, in a rather neutral tone.

 

“Normally I'd be having a celebration, everyone knows Albus Dumbledore is hardly fit to run the school,” Lucius said, “however, things being what they are-”

 

Lucius Malfoy was worried. Harry grew very nervous.

 

The Headmaster's office was its usual bright and cheerfully decorated self but there was a funny smell lingering in the air that made Harry wrinkle his nose. Professor Snape grew very stiff like the suits of armor that guarded Hogwarts hallways and marched forward while shoving Harry behind him.

 

“Hagrid has also been arrested,” Lucius said sharply, “at the encouragement of Minister Fudge himself, as a preemptive measure. His previous record put him rather at fault and the minister of course, must be seen doing something about these attacks.”

 

The news about Hagrid made Harry's stomach plummet, he hoped Hagrid had time to arrange someone to look after Fang and Aragog. As they drew closer towards the lit fire and Headmaster's desk Harry recognized the odour as one that was unfortunately familiar.

 

“Things being what they are Lucius,” a voice said from behind a large, transfigured paisley chair that looked terribly out of place, “I thought it best to gather our happy troop together for a little chat.”

 

Tapping the side of the chair impatiently was a thin, bony hand. A plume of smoke suddenly wafted towards the fireplace and some sullen coughing followed.

 

“This is most irregular,” Professor Snape said.

 

“Isn't it?” the man said, then peered from behind the chair with a cruel, gleeful expression that Harry was used to seeing on his much younger son.

 

It was shocking enough to see Hadrian Nott in Hogwarts but even more so because the old man Harry had seen in Theodore's house had been an ailing wizard with one foot in the grave. This man was quite tidied up and a great deal clearer in the eyes. His lank hair had been combed, his face shaved and with some amount of dread Harry realized that the ring that had once been on Hadrian Nott's finger and that had caused so much distress for Theodore, had disappeared. Hadrian Nott rose languidly from the chair with a bodily strength that would have been unthinkable the summer Harry had seen him so decrepit.

 

The only good thing was that once Theodore was restored by Professor Sprout's mandrakes, he would no doubt be overjoyed that his father was so well. Harry had a feeling not many people would be as happy about Hadrian Nott's sudden recovery.

 

“Of course, Professor McGonagall will be taking the Headmaster's previous position for the moment,” Hadrian Nott said, “we went to school together. Did you know she was a right bit of fun back in the day? Not like your father, Lucius, who wouldn't know fun if it crept into his room at night and stabbed him in his sleep.”

 

This was followed by a rather loud, raucous, wheezing laugh that no one reciprocated.

 

“It was a right bit of cheek to slip that book into Theodore's hands,” Hadrian Nott said, his eyes going narrow, “and a bit foolish. You had no idea what was in there, not a clue who Tom Riddle even was. All you knew was that it was dark and possibly dangerous. It's a frightfully reckless thing to do, trying to curse someone when you're not even sure what form the magic will take. And then sending in your auror dogs, frightening my boy into the woods where he was conveniently petrified-”

 

“I had no intention of cursing your son,” Lucius said, in a tone Harry thought sounded rather desperate, “or encouraging his unfortunate petrification!”

 

Hadrian Nott shook his head and made a noise between his teeth, “shame Lucius, shame. A bold faced move never works when the other person has set up the chess board. Now, young Mr. Potter, you and I have something to discuss.”

 

“I can't imagine what you would have to discuss with a student,” Professor Snape said, rather coldly.

 

“I'm not speaking to you,” Hadrian Nott said sharply, “I'm talking to a friend of my petrified boy and a victim of that nasty book Lucius foisted onto poor Theodore. It was a lucky thing such a smart little lad got a hold of it, who knows what would have happened if someone more daft and inconsiderate fooled around with it first.”

 

“Too bad about it burning then,” Harry said, coldly.

 

“Oh, I know it's been burned,” Hadrian Nott said, “but ruined things have a way of coming around and being found again when one least expects it. Isn't that right, Lucius? Like old, decrepit tapestries.”

 

Lucius said nothing but his entire body tightened like Hagrid's crossbow before being fired.

 

Hadrian Nott leaned down close to Harry so that they would be eye to eye. It was not a pleasant experience, Hadrian Nott's breath smelled rather foul and his gaze was something Harry rather fancied a manticore would find off putting.

 

“Where is Draco Malfoy?” Hadrian Nott said.

 

Without any hesitation, Harry shrugged his shoulders.

 

“I don't know,” Harry said.

 

“I like clever lads,” Hadrian Nott said, “but I'm not much for liars. I know you must know where he is, that's because I know Professor Gamp knows too. And she's got one too many cauldrons on the burner, if you read me and they're about to all boil over. Where is Draco Malfoy?”

 

There was a sick, twisting feeling in Harry's stomach and he slammed shut Tom Riddle's rattling ghost deep in his head as hard as he could.

 

“Please,” Lucius said, his voice wavering.

 

Harry wasn't sure what Lucius was asking for, the look on his face could have been pleading Harry to tell them both where his son was but also a caution not to say a word. Many times Harry's Dad had told him that intuition was very important for a wizard and it was at that very moment that Harry wished he had paid much more attention to what that actually meant. All he knew was that anything Hadrian Nott wanted, it was best not to hand it over too easily.

 

 _What a clever boy_ , the hissing whisper murmured in his head, _how tragic you're going to die._

 

 _Shut up_ , Harry hissed back.

 

“I don't know,” Harry repeated, “I saw him at lunch and then not again since. If Professor Gamp knows where he is, you'll have to ask her.”

 

“That's enough!” Professor Snape said, hauling Harry to the side.

 

This was probably a very smart thing to do as Hadrian Nott looked like he might have lunged after him if Professor Snape hadn't stood in the way. Hadrian Nott's health may have been miraculously restored but it seemed his temperament had fared the worse for it.

 

“Don't worry Severus,” Hadrian Nott said, “you'll get yours too, when the time comes. Keep an eye on Professor Gamp, Lucius, she's closer to the truth than you think. When things go topsy turvy and Professor Snape is no where to be found, remember that I'm only a floo call away. And young Mr. Potter, feel free to call on your best friend's wise old father whenever you'd like, especially if things become rather tense between yourself and the Professor. Severus is an awfully sore loser and he's lost quite a bit since your father crept into his life. Since no one is interested in co-operating I'll take my leave. Gentlemen...”

 

With a sharp turn and a puff of smoke, Hadrian Nott stepped into the Headmaster's fireplace and was gone. The relief in the room was palpable, although it didn't last long before Professor Snape rounded on Lucius.

 

“What do you think you're doing,” he snarled at him.

 

“Playing all the quidditch fields as is per usual,” Lucius retorted, “although the broom has rather gone off course this time.”

 

“Right into the whomping willow,” Snape said, his face grim.

 

Lucuis didn't seem happy with that analogy, he paced for several moments and seemed to finally come to a decision.

 

“Where is Draco,” Lucius said, narrowing his gaze at Harry, “I know you know where he is, Hadrian wouldn't have bothered with you otherwise.”

 

“He's all right,” Harry said, “I sent a house elf to help.”

 

Lucius looked at him with the greatest surprise, “a house elf?”

 

“Kreacher,” Harry said, “he only listens to me and Uncle Sirius. But I'm not telling you where he is, that would be dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous,” Professor Snape said, “this man is his father!”

 

“I also know why Professor Gamp is out for him,” Harry said, “and why Mr. Malfoy tried to bribe her in Knockturn Alley.”

 

Lucius took on an appearance that resembled the awful portrait of Walburga Black at Grimmauld Place, complete with bulging eyes, twisted hands and a ghastly pallor.

 

“How dare you insinuate- how dare-!” Lucius was beyond words and drew his wand, “I can rip it out of you, I can pull all the thoughts from your head and drop them at your feet one by one, until you're nothing! Nothing but a wreck your parents have to put together!”

 

“Lucius,” Professor Snape said sharply, “remember that this boy's father is auror Potter, a man with far reaching appeal. It's not wise to threaten him. There is much to wonder about, namely what the devil he's talking about and why it was of any concern to Professor Gamp.”

 

“I can't say,” Harry said, “I promised Draco. He was smart enough to figure most of it out with a bit of help and he-”

 

Wisely Harry left out the role of Hermione Granger, he certainly didn't want the full wrath of Lucius Malfoy falling down on her head if things should go pear shaped.

 

“-he hid all his notes and things. I managed to get them afterwards before Professor Gamp did and read them. But it wouldn't have mattered because I already knew, I found out almost the same time Draco did because of the tapestry in the Slytherin common room.”

 

“Found out about what exactly,” Lucius voice took on a breathy air, that was more fear than anything else.

 

“About Maneasar Mescreance,” Harry said, knowing the name would mean nothing to Professor Snape and everything Lucius Malfoy.

 

The effect was immediate, Lucius weaved slightly on his feet. The Professor stepped forward, guiding him to a chair wherein he practically collapsed, putting his head despairingly in his hands.

 

“It's all over,” Lucius said, his voice taking on a dreadful tone, “I'm sure you've already sent a letter to the ministry.”

 

Confused, Harry shook his head.

 

“Why would I send a letter?” Harry said.

 

“That's beside the point!” Lucius shouted, “What are we going to do Severus?”

 

The Professor steepled his fingers and seemed to think for some time, a few shrewd looks were cast in Harry's direction but otherwise he remained still and silent.

 

Finally, the Professor seemed to come to a conclusion.

 

“Minerva will take over the position of head mistress,” Professor Snape said evenly, “she will no doubt try to keep the school running as swiftly and smoothly as possible without any deviation from ordinary. This gives us some room to manoeuvre. Lucius, your son is quite safe as long as he doesn't go chasing after the basilisk which knowing him, I doubt he would have any inclinations of the sort.”

 

“Of course not,” Lucius said, tightly.

 

“Mr. Potter seems to know quite a bit about the current situation. It stands to reason if Draco told Mr. Potter about his predicament, he had found him trustworthy enough to confide in. I can vouch for that if nothing else, Potter's do have a tendency to keep their word. As it stands, Professor Gamp is a threat to the students but none of us can prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt to anyone, least of all those who might be helpful in removing her from the school.”

 

Lucius raised his head imperiously, “I could make sure the board of governors removed her with the right inducement.”

 

“No,” Professor Snape said, his voice taking on an edge, “threatening their families would never do, she would be reinstated when the ruse inevitably fell apart or worse. There is one thing I know that both of you do not and it is imperative we get this sorted before the end result becomes uncorrectable.”

 

“And what might that be,” Lucius said.

 

“There is someone here at Hogwarts that also knows the truth” Professor Snape said.

 

“It must be Armand Malfoy who's returned then,” Harry said quietly.

 

They both gave Harry such piercing, searching gazes that he wanted to squirm right out of his chair.

 

“How,” Professor Snape said, “do you know any of this?”

 

“I came upon it all on my own,” Harry said.

 

“Liar!” Professor Snape hissed at him.

 

“I didn't know what to do!” Harry shouted.

 

“Speak to an adult,” Lucius snapped, “is what one should do in these kinds of circumstances!”

 

“Hadrian Nott's an adult!” Harry shouted, feeling hot in the face, “Be glad I didn't speak up to him!”

 

“Enough, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape snarled, “There's only one thing we can do, we must find Armand Malfoy and convince him to cease his machinations. Surely, there is something he wants from us that may do. He was an alumni at Hogwarts, the school is a great source of power. There are old ways to benefit ghosts-”

 

“No,” Lucius said, “absolutely not.”

 

“What other choice is there?” Professor Snape said.

 

“Anything but deal with that- that awful cretin,” Lucius snapped.

 

“Precisely who is he,” Professor Snape said.

 

“Armand Malfoy has always been irascible,” Lucius said, his jaw stiffening, “and of course there are the stories. I thought they were only children's tales but when he spoke to me-”

 

“He can talk!” Harry shouted in surprise.

 

“Silence!” Professor Snape said.

 

Lucius continued, “He was the worst Malfoy that ever lived, notorious during his life for his shameful escapades and gleeful cruelty.”

 

“What is he holding over your head?” Professor Snape said, “Conjecture doesn't do any good, please tell me or I can't help you to the fullest of my ability.”

 

There was quite a long moment of silence until Lucius finally spoke.

 

“Severus,” Lucius said, with an air of desperation Harry never thought he would hear from someone so proud, “don't make me say it aloud, I'm afraid what it might do. He revealed to me certain facts about our family. If they were to come to light, I'm not sure what it might do to us. It's enough to disinherit every Malfoy heir for a thousand years.”

 

A terrible quiet followed, Professor Snape's jaw tightened and his hands clenched by his sides. He was extremely intelligent and Harry rather thought he had a good idea what might do such a thing to a prestigious and biased family like the Malfoys.

 

“Narcissa,” Professor Snape said, “surely she has some idea-”

 

“She has not an inkling and must never, ever find out,” Lucius said, “even a hint...a whiff...it would completely ruin her.”

 

“If the inheritance is through blood magic,” the Professor said, grimly, “the repercussions are often dire.”

 

“No one knows, Severus,” Lucius said, his hand trembled as it swiped a stray golden hair from his eyes, “not a single living soul knows what might happen if the truth comes out, except that it will be swift arriving and something akin to a monstrous revenge. He hates us Severus, every dot along the family tree. He was so desperate to condemn us all forever, he sealed the magic with his own life. Dark magic, sacrificial magic, ancient and not easily broken.”

 

“But I thought he couldn't speak because of the rope,” Harry said.

 

Lucius regarded him with a cool gaze, “the rope fell free. We kept him shut up in the tower afterwards, he became restless. I wasn't entirely sure of his whereabouts until Professor Gamp attempted blackmail. As studious as she is, there is no way for her to come upon any of this unless she had access to certain information that wasn't kept among the living.”

 

Armand Malfoy had somehow been freed from his silence and that was what Lucius Malfoy was so afraid for he'd even risk the life of his only son. Harry Potter wondered what any of them were going to do now.

 

“I implore you to return to the manour,” Professor Snape said, “Lucius, we will find a solution to this problem but you must contain your wife's curiosity concerning Draco. Make up any excuse you require-”

 

“She'll know instantly!” Lucius said, aghast.

 

“Be that as it may,” Professor Snape said, “let us discuss further details alone. I will deal with Potter afterwards.”

 

Professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy were in the chamber next door for quite some time until the loud sound of a floo going off alerted Harry to the fact that himself and Profesor Snape were now quite alone. Profesor Snape stormed in with his cloak flapping from the other room like a great angry bat, nostrils flaring, temper raised to the ceiling.

 

“You have no idea what sort of trouble this little escapade has caused, Potter. Narcissa Malfoy will be tearing apart Hogwarts looking for her son the moment it becomes apparent he is not at school and Professor Gamp will be all too happy to let the secret out in retaliation. Tell me, right this instant, _where is he!_ ” Professor Snape roared.

 

Deciding it wouldn't do him any good anyways, Harry told him.

 

“The chamber of secrets. I watched him fall in when Professor Gamp surprised us,” Harry said.

 

“ _Watched him fall in_ ,” the Professor said in a mocking tone, “what in the devil has gotten into your thick head that made you think you could fight on even terms with a Professor notorious for research concerning the dark arts?”

 

“I didn't know what to do,” Harry repeated.

 

The fire was starting to dim and while the office was usually a place of comfort filled with whirring magical things and warm tea, it was now getting dark and rather chilly without Headmaster Dumbledore's kindly presence.

 

Professor Snape slammed his hands down on the desk in front of Harry.

 

“Tell a Professor is what one should do! Speak to an adult! Contact that irritating father of yours so he and that idiot Black can come tearing in to the rescue, what one does not do is expect at twelve to be able to take on a fully grown witch grotesquely talented in many and marvellous ways in which to kill, maim, dismember, disappear and brutally murder people. Her untoward research methods are not her only vices! She's been rather busy in Istanbul and has left a rather alarming trail behind her!”

 

“She's friends with my Mum,” Harry snapped, “And Mum certainly didn't know any of that!”

 

“Your mother's greatest weakness, besides sympathy for foolish, trumped up pure-blood dunderheads like her husband, is that she is far too kind. If she had looked, even a little, at our old schoolmate's recent misadventures she would have seen-!”

 

Harry felt himself grow angry; half his terrible year was directly because the Professor was angry at his Mum for reasons he couldn't fathom.

 

“Seen what!” Harry shouted, “Everyone isn't as suspicious of everything as you are! And you go after people who haven't even done anything wrong!”

 

“Nott has done more than you think!” Professor Snape shouted back, “And if you think he wouldn't turn you over to his father in a heartbeat if he knew-!”

 

“Knew what!” Harry shouted, “He already figured out I was getting extra lessons in the dark arts, he's not stupid!”

 

Professor Snape turned away, nearly shaking with anger, “read that damned book the Headmaster gave you and you might understand why associating with the children of death eaters is a rather graven notion!”

 

“I can't read it!” Harry said, “It's impossible! I'm only twelve, just like you said! It's practically in another language and it's not like anyone offered to help!”

 

“Then get out and don't return until you're of some use! And stay away from miserable friends like talentless Bulstrode and thick headed Theodore Nott!” the Professor exploded.

 

“Millicent isn't talentless!” Harry said, his face turning red, “And Theodore's my friend! Sod you! Sod slytherin! Maybe I'd have some other friends if you hadn't driven them all away!”

 

After Harry finished shouting, an intense session of painful coughing followed. Harry found his chest tightening and his limbs shaking, unable to stop. When he finally looked up at the Professor expecting some glib remark about not even being able to defeat a measly cold, Professor Snape had a most unfamiliar expression on his face, one of great concern.

 

“Has the coughing become more painful,” the Professor said, “has it been followed by any pain in the spine?”

 

Harry thought he had perhaps indeed fallen through the floor while he'd been shouting or into another universe because professor Snape sounded almost concerned when asking.

 

“No,” Harry said, apprehensively, “it hurts mostly in the chest. Madame Pompfrey said it would go away.”

 

“But it hasn't,” the Professor said quietly.

 

“Not really,” Harry said, baffled by the sudden concern.

 

The silence stretched long and uncomfortably, until professor Snape made a frustrated sound and sat in a squashy chair next to Harry's and appeared to be thinking rather deeply about something. It was strange sitting in front of the empty Headmaster's desk and suddenly, Harry sorely wished professor Dumbledore hadn't been forced to leave. His dad had always told him that Hogwarts was the safest place to be as long as Dumbledore was the headmaster there and now-

 

“This can't go on as it has been,” Professor Snape said, in a graven tone.

 

The Professor suddenly speaking startled Harry so much he nearly let out a yelp.

 

“No matter your mother's opinions on the matter, you must keep having your lessons,” Professor Snape said, “and I-”

 

There was a lengthy pause.

 

“I'm sorry to have caused problems during your education,” Professor Snape said slowly, as though the words were being tortured out of him.

 

“Let Millicent on the quidditch team,” Harry said quickly, “ and stop picking on Theodore. And I'll do it no matter what Mum or anybody else says.”

 

Professor Snape turned the most red Harry had ever seen and looked at him as though he were going to continue where the shouting had left off. But then his face paled back to its usual sallow gloominess.

 

“Acceptable,” Professor Snape spat, “why you weren't sorted into gryffindor, I'll never understand.”

 

“I asked,” Harry said, bitterly, “to be anywhere but gryffindor.”

 

Professor Snape regarded him with some surprise, “and not in your father's noble house?”

 

“I don't like Gryffindors,” Harry said, thinking of Neville and Ron, “or bullies.”

 

It was the strangest thing but Harry could have sworn he saw Professor Snape smirking under his lank, greasy black hair.

 

Before being dismissed for the night and sent back to the common room, Professor Snape gave him specific instructions.

 

“After breakfast write to your father that you are fearful about the chamber and require his presence, tell him nothing about Malfoy,” Professor Snape said, “ I will speak to the acting Headmistress about Professor Gamp and we shall go on from there. Until then, try to pretend everything is as it should be. Act as normally as possible in front of the other students, say nothing especially to Weasley or Bulstrode. Do you understand? If anything goes awry, it shall be on your head so keep your mouth shut.”

 

“Yes Professor,” Harry said.

 

The return to his dormitory was met with a nervous stillness that made Harry feel ever more alone in slytherin house. The beds next to him were empty, Theodore's papers teetered precariously with no one to fuss with them and Draco's silly looking soft pyjamas were still laid out on his bed as if he'd be coming in any moment to put them on and go to sleep. The other boys didn't dare say much that night, to avoid encouraging Professor Snape to hand out even more detentions. Feeling terrible, Harry checked his school things for the next day and went to get some spare parchment from his night stand when he realized something was missing.

 

 _The invisibility cloak_ , Harry thought desperately, _it's been stolen!_

 

Only a slytherin student would have known the password but looking around, Harry was despairingly short on immediate suspects. Blaise had long been quiet to avoid detention and was sitting writing a letter by lamplight. Goyle and Crabbe hardly had the guile without Draco around and the older slytherin boys Harry doubted would have known enough to steal it. There wasn't anyone Harry could even see to about its theft, since he was sure Professor Snape would have a great many awful things to say about the cloak due to it belonging to Harry's father. Harry was simply too tired to do anything further that night and vowed to worry about it the next morning after a good night's rest.

 

Despite being exhausted, it was a very long time before Harry could even stop his mind whirling enough to fall asleep. When he finally managed to drop off, it was met with the most unpleasant sensation. It was as if he was falling into a dream, very much like the feeling he'd had when he had tumbled into the diary the first time.

 

“No!..” Professor Quirrel said, while cowering in a dark forest, “master, no!...I thought you were dead!”

 

In another forest that was much more familiar, he leaned over a dead unicorn and drank it's blood greedily, hungrily, until a boy screamed in terror at what he had seen.

 

“That's it Tom,” a voice said, raspy and old, “take a good swig of the ol' girl's nectar. Keep it down and we'll have you up and around again in no time.”

 

An old man's face came into focus. It was Hadrian Nott looking very much as he had the last time Harry had seen him, mysteriously restored from a state that was near death.

 

_The ring...the ring..._

 

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Old Nott said, “that old relation got a hold of it, and be glad he did. It wasn't much use in the end, a very fair trade. He found you right quick all coiled up in the muggle garden, didn't he? What a shock I gave them when I came to collect! They never saw it coming those muggles, never knew whose presence they were standing in.”

 

The dream blurred and faded into nothing but the sense of uneasiness wasn't easy to squash down. Harry warily opened his eyes; the green glow of the slytherin lanterns was dim as it usually was late at night but standing over him was a woman who he had never seen before in his life.

 

She looked like the most defeated person Harry had ever seen; her back slouched painfully, her hair was lank and her heavy set face possessed watery eyes that were both imploring and frightening. They were almost looking in opposite directions, they sat so low on her face.

 

“Who are you?” Harry wanted to ask but he was frozen in his bed, unable to move.

 

The woman paced around his bed, watching him and begging him with her eyes but he had no idea what he was supposed to do, he was too frightened. Flinging herself onto the edge of Harry's bed, she suddenly collapsed her face in her hands and began to wail. Dreadful wrenching sobs followed. Harry's heart was in his throat and his heart was pounding, it was a terrible, desperate sound that he'd hope never to hear again.

 

-UP!”

 

It was a rude awakening, Harry tumbled violently out of bed. When he saw Crabbe's dull face above his own, he made a startled noise.

 

“Professor Snape said you could skip morning class if you'd like,” Crabbe said, “cause of your cold but I was to be sure you were up anyway.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry said, not meaning it at all, the last thing he needed was to see Crabbe's face inches from his own first thing.

 

And he was so tired. Harry felt for a moment that he was made of lead, his legs would hardly listen to him, Tom Riddle was laughing low and quiet in his head. But he managed to scramble up out of his twisted sheets before Crabbe decided to have another go at getting him ready for class.

 

“Oh and he said to go see Madame Pompfrey even if you are going,” Crabbe said, while scratching his bristly head.

 

“Right,” Harry said, resigned to being late to breakfast, “go on then. I'm sure Goyle is waiting for you.”

 

After getting dressed and checking everywhere for the invisibility cloak, Harry trudged his way to the hospital wing without any idea where it might be. It wasn't a very cheery morning, everyone seemed furtive and nervous due to the attacks and even the sixth years travelled the school in clumped packs. Rumour and superstition overtook common sense, there were quite a few students doing brisk business selling magical amulets. Harry knew they were all rubbish since Uncle Padfoot told him long ago that anyone who hung an onion about their neck hoping to repel dark magic was probably a few sickles short of a sack.

 

Harry smirked when he heard Ron Weasley's loud, confused voice coming from a thron of Gryffindor students coming down from their tower.

 

“What's the onion supposed to do?” Ron asked.

 

“My Uncle said it protects from _vaporous maladies_ ,” Neville said, “but I'm not sure if the smell is worth it.”

 

“I assure you that an onion does little but aid the superstitious in peddling salacious twaddle,” Professor McGonnagall said loudly, “students of Hogwarts should certainly know better than to take advantage.”

 

She broke up the amulet salesmen rather quickly after that, which was unfortunate as Harry enjoyed seeing someone benefit from gryffindor stupidity. Harry could hear Theodore's nasally laugh at the thought, which gave him a terrible pang.

 

The hospital wing was even more subdued and miserable than usual. Theodore's frightened pose and Hermione's shocked face were not welcome sights to Harry, especially after his nightmare. But as Harry made his way into the wing and passed the beds, he noticed Theodore's hand was tightly clutched around something.

 

It appeared that Madame Pompfrey was detained making a floo call from her office, possibly about the recent attacks since she hadn't immediately beset on the person who had entered her domain with pepper up potions and fussing. Harry lingered closer to Theodore and realized it was a small gray book clutched in his hands.

 

The book was stuck completely fast. Checking to be sure no one was coming, Harry pulled mightily until it came free with a tearing noise. The cover hung on by a thread but the book had been near ancient anyway. Harry doubted Theodore would be too put out, considering the state of his school things.

 

It was easy to open the little book to the rumpled page Theodore must have been perusing before he had been petrified.

 

_Possession is most common in wizards who have dabbled in the dark arts and lost against them. A wizard possessed is very dangerous, it is a condition almost impossible to alleviate particularly if the spirit possessing the wizard has ever made a H-C-X._

 

“A what?” Harry mumbled.

 

Then he remembered the strange word Theodore had said some time before.

 

_A horcrux._

 

Something evil, very evil. So evil that even the Headmaster himself had banned the study of it between Hogwart's walls.

 

It wasn't a difficult thing to put the pieces together. Theodore had been reading about horcruxes and possession because he thought his father was dying from the influence of both. The person who had been most likely to have possessed him was Tom Riddle but it seemed that he had come to Hogwarts in a book instead to open the chamber of secrets. And then he had possessed Harry...and then Harry had made sure he stayed put instead of terrorizing the school.

 

Harry swallowed down his sick, growing fear. What exactly had he _done_ to himself?

 

More worryingly, if Theodore had been reading a book about it, he must have come very close to the truth concerning his father's situation. And yet, Hadrian Nott was mysteriously cured. Harry's dreams took on a strange relevance, but they were just his imagination getting away from him, surely. That's what his mother had always told him about bad dreams, they didn't actually mean anything and wizards and witches who thought otherwise were being overly superstitious.

 

_Possessed wizards can be influenced by emotions, visions, and compulsions to do the bidding of the one possessing them. Even very powerful wizards find it difficult to escape a possession, they can also meet a very nasty end at the behest of the possessor who only has to jump into a new body once they dispose of their wayward host. The only sure escape for one so beleaguered is death itself, or discovering the vessel in which the evil wizard has placed his soul for safe keeping. Once removed and destroyed, it is possible to make a full recovery._

 

It was simple to consider Hadrian Nott's ring as the source of Voldemort's dark power, which may have explained why after the diary had been destroyed he was still able to possess other people.

 

 _The only escape for one so beleaguered is death itself_ -

 

Harry snapped the little book shut and steeled himself.

 

 _I'm not going to die_ , he repeated over and over, _I'm_ not _going to die._

 

A high pitched and evil laugh sounded in his head but that only made Harry more determined. Even if he couldn't manage to save himself, there was still another person he had to rescue from certain doom before that happened. The only question was how.

 

“Mr. Potter,” the ghostly form of the Bloody Baron floated into the hospital wing, “I was tasked with escorting you to classes. May I ask why you are not on your way to the great hall for breakfast?”

 

“Oh ehrm,” Harry said, “I was told to go to the hospital wing.”

 

The Bloody Baron. _The Bloody Baron!_ Harry remembered excitedly what he had overheard a seventh year in the common room nattering on about some weeks before.

 

“Our house ghost isn't like that ridiculous Nearly Headless Nick,” the seventh year had said, rather snobbishly, “he was taught by Salazar Slytherin himself. He's been here almost as long as the school.”

 

With all the excitement going on, Harry had forgotten to think about the things right in front of his nose.

 

“Mr. Baron,” Harry stammered, “sir. May I ask you a question?”

 

“I suppose,” the Bloody Baron said.

 

Harry took in a nervous breath before speaking, “did you know Maneasar Mescreance?”

 

The look that fell across the Bloody Baron's face made Harry falter, it was the sort of look it was best to run away from but Harry stayed put. He had to.

 

“How,” the Bloody Baron said after an agonizingly long time to collect himself, “do you know that name?”

 

“Ah,” madame Pompfrey said, “there you are.”

 

“Hello,” Harry said, not all pleased to have been interrupted.

 

“If you don't mind, Mr. Baron,” Madame Pompfrey said tartly, “you're freezing my hospital wing.”

 

“I am on official Hogwarts business,” the Bloody Baron said, “escorting Mr. Harry Potter to class. It was the Headmaster's desire you see, before he was sent away.”

 

Madame Pompfrey looked annoyed, the chill of a ghost was no small thing but she allowed it and instead fussed over Harry.

 

“Looking very peaky,” Madame Pompfrey clucked, “perhaps it's best if you stay in bed-”  


“Oh please Madame Pompfrey,” Harry said, “I've missed so much class. I'd rather keep up than fall behind again. I promise to stay off my broom for a week if you let me go back.”

 

The Bloody Baron hovered around, looking at the collections of medicines and potions in the cabinets, but it was obvious his concentration was elsewhere.

 

Madame Pompfrey considered Harry with a steely gaze, “after a pepper up, or perhaps something stronger in your case, to chase away the chill.”

 

Harry was very relieved, with the cloak missing he especially had to stay out of the hospital wing. After drinking a foul tasting potion that certainly wasn't pepper up, Harry finally escaped.

 

“Into this room,” the Bloody Baron said, leading them towards an empty classroom.

 

The Bloody Baron wasn't known as the most cheerful ghost in Hogwarts but even for him he seemed rather grim and more gloomy than usual, it made Harry feel quite uneasy. Ghosts didn't normally bother Harry, after all they couldn't hurt live people or do anything terrible without ruining their stay at Hogwarts. His father had told Harry all about it, to reassure him as a six year old when Fred and George terrified him with outlandish stories about Hogwarts ghosts cornering first years and stealing bits of them away.

 

“A ghost can't ever go against an agreement made with the living,” James Potter said, “otherwise the Ministry of Magic can force them to leave. Or worse...”

 

“What's worse than being dead?” Harry had asked, his fright mounting at the thought when he was six.

 

“Well, of course the Spirit Division in the ministry has all sorts of ways to torture the dead, there are special rooms even with charmed manacles-” Sirius had began.

 

“Sirius,” Lily had said annoyed, “he's _six_ not twenty.”

 

“When I was a boy I loved hearing about tortured spirits,” James tried to defend, “while sitting on my father's knee. Perfectly safe activity, considering there weren't any ghosts in our house.”

 

While Harry would have certainly enjoyed sitting on his father's knee in front of the warm fire in the kitchen, the thought of tortured spirits had created such terrific fervour in his imagination he had felt himself go pale.

 

“James,” Lily had said, even more aggravated.

 

“Oh dear,” his father had said, looking at Harry's ashen complexion.

 

“They don't really torture anyone in the Ministry I promise. It's just an empty threat to be sure everyone follows the rules,” his Dad had attempted to soothe him, “And I know for a fact no Hogwarts ghost has ever broken them, not ever since Hogwarts first opened its doors.”

 

The memory wasn't much of a comfort with the Bloody Baron looming over Harry, his blood stained robe and rattling chains had never seemed more terrifying.

 

“Tell me how you know of him,” the Bloody Baron demanded, “that cursed boy.”

 

“My friend Hermione Granger found his name on the ravenclaw stone,” Harry said, “and then we found out who he was. Who he became.”

 

The baron was very surprised.

 

“Then you did know about it,” Harry said, “Hermione said he put a curse on the Malfoys and that's why they're so frightened of him.”

 

“Of course, I knew what he must have done the instant I heard about the circumstances surrounding his death,” the Bloody Baron said, “I said nothing to anyone alive, the Malfoy family has hardly been innocent but it would have been cruel to condemn people that I knew not.”

 

“Were you his friend?” Harry said.

 

“Never! I despised him!” the Bloody Baron thunderously replied, his chains rattling, “mark my words, this whole chamber business has his stink all over it! Though his studies were lacking, he was still a great wizard in many ways, even if unaccountably evil. Fortunately for the rest of the wizarding world, he hadn't the scope of a dark lord. Ambition was too saccharine for the likes of him, it wasn't power he coveted.”

 

“What was he after then,” Harry said curiously, “if he wasn't out for power the way the dark lord was.”

 

The Bloody Baron regarded him with a hesitant gaze.

 

“It's difficult to put into words,” he said, “it brings back so many bad memories. He was cruel, he wanted to hurt others. Most of all I think, he enjoyed watching other people suffer because of his machinations and he became very good at inducing others to fall into his traps. So I suppose it is a power in a way but not one that leads to any grandiose ideals, merely childish games. ”

 

“I suppose then the Malfoys have always been a bit-,” Harry fumbled for words.

 

“Conniving? Manipulative?” the Bloody Baron said, “It's something his descendants all seem to posses for better or worse; the innate ability to charm and influence. They weren't all bad, there were kind ones throughout the centuries. Mescreance's wife for a start, she was an entirely different sort. In her there was mercy, forgiveness and even consideration for those less fortunate. Some of them came to Hogwarts with those same traits, others were much worse. But always pure-blooded? They never were, the braggarts. But to think it, or even say it aloud to a close friend, is different than having proof. That is what would curse them and knowing Mescreance as I do, the end would be vicious. As much as I disagree with Lucius Malfoy's methods, I cannot disagree with his desperate attempt to keep it all quiet.”

 

“Would Draco die?” Harry asked hesitantly, “If it ever came out?”

 

“Blood magic is very unpredictable,” the Bloody Baron said, “it's precisely the thing Mescreance would have enjoyed toying with. Whatever it would be, the Malfoy family would never recover from its effects. He would have made sure of that, mad though he was in the end.”

 

“Professor Gamp is blackmailing Lucius Malfoy, she wants to expose the truth. Worse, she wants to kill Draco in order to open Salypso's laboratory,” Harry said, “she's trapped him in the chamber of secrets until she can deal with him. I was hoping you'd help me get him out.”

 

The Bloody Baron sighed, “I know about your problems, I've been keeping watch in slytherin the whole time. Though not a single professor thought to ask me of the chamber, not even Professor Snape who is smarter than most. They know not about my history or perhaps, in the case of the Professor they know I am forbidden to speak of it.”

 

“Then you can't help anyone at all?” Harry asked.

 

“I am magically forbidden to speak of it, this is true,” the Bloody Baron said, “except-”

 

At this the Bloody Baron smirked, which was quite frightening.

 

“To those who already know of it. I was taught in the chamber of secrets my sixth year and I was- _I was_ Salypso's very best friend. So in a way I suppose, I stay in Hogwarts because I owe my old friend to take care of his house.”

 

Harry's eyes went wide.

 

“I knew something would happen this year, something dreadful. All the signs were there in the living and the dead. I knew it was only a matter of time before I was called upon. I will help you but I wish for something in return.”

 

Harry felt the gladdest he'd been in a long time.

 

“Thank-you,” Harry said.

 

“Don't thank me yet,” the Bloody Baron said, his face becoming stern, “what I wish for is no small matter. But I will tell you everything I can in return. I was not always known as the Bloody Baron, my real name is on the stone in slytherin. _Ganzybo Gripe,_ descendent from wizards that came from Ireland who practised the most ancient of ways. I was a student along with Salypso during the earliest years Hogwarts existed. I saw the whole dreadful matter from start to finish, to the bitter end. Much like Mescreance, my name was lost to history but not by choice. Professor Gamp knew the story, that all students of Salazar were sworn to secrecy about the chamber but she never even came to me for advice. Straight away she tracked down Mescreance in Malfoy manour, which I would have cautioned her against if she had come to me first. He is clever, too clever and would have known just what to do to ruin her. He knew which books to send her to, how to trick her into making a poison to imbibe. The potion she drank is doing its work, her body is falling to pieces and all to reach a room she could have entered if she had simply thought to ask about a wand.”

 

Harry started, so that's what was happening, why she was wearing a glamour. All sorts of terrible images flitted in his head, mostly from the dreadful books he and Theodore giggled over that one summer.

 

“There are secrets even research won't reveal,” the Bloody Baron said, mysteriously, “only magic.”

 

“What's that mean?” Harry said, baffled.

 

“The poem,” the baron said, “relies on a knowledge of events contemporary Hogwarts students would never have known about without the darkest of magics. Professor Gamp thinks she knows all there is, that every answer can be found in a book. But if she had delved deeper into dark magic, she would have realized no book can ever replace experience.”

 

Harry doubted Hermione Granger would have agreed but she was at the mercy of Madame Pompfrey in the hospital wing until the mandrakes had grown up.

 

“The rose hewn wand,” the Bloody Baron said, “that you posses, once belonged to Salypso Slytherin, he made it himself. Roses were his most favourite of flowers but Salazar forbade their growing on Hogwart's grounds. Salypso made his garden where he could, in what is now known as the forbidden forest. But, it was not always such a large and unwieldy thatch, it was once a great, vast cemetery made in ancient days when muggles and wizards made war together. This place could be seen clearly from Rowena Ravenclaw's tower-”

 

_Recalling spiral steps turned black,_

_Where raven wings in the wind have flapped,_

 

_We gazed across the window ledge,_

_Unwavering in the face of death..._

 

“The poem,” Harry said, “it really is the map to Salypso's laboratory. But a map that was only good a thousand years ago.”

 

“Yes,” the Bloody Baron said, “the wild roses still grow in the forbidden forest, but severely diminished. Even magic couldn't save the grave stones from time; the short stone stumps wore away from Scottish wind and rain, snow and ice, until they sunk into the ground and disappeared. The centaurs nurtured the forest as they always had, eventually it grew over all, including the door into the laboratory.”

 

“And the nettles? His bed? What about cedar blood, it's all so confusing,” Harry said, frantically.

 

“Those are merely parables for what lay inside,” the Bloody Baron replied, his gaze turning gloomy, “the work of a lifetime, even if it was cut much too short. Cedar wood for the cauldron fire, a chimney black from charcoal smoke. He slept there in a simple bed tending his potions for days, watching every incremental change. Professor Gamp was correct about one thing, the last lines. The door does require Malfoy blood, but with the right spell only a drop. Without the spell or wand, _murder_. Maneasar Mescreance made it so with a purpose in mind. That monstrous boy was beneath Salazar's notice for quite some time, it was only with his help Salypso could have built such a place. And it was in return, Salypso made sure the little rat could gain entry but only with his permission, when desperation would force him to cut his own finger to open the door by himself. His blood magic was only emphasized after Salypso's death, to be sure no one but him could enter unless they already knew the right spells, or had the wand. Or worst of all, killed him or a member of his family.”

 

“What happened to Salypso Slytherin,” Harry asked, “why did he die? Why was he forgotten? Why do I have his wand?”

 

“He was betrayed,” the Bloody Baron said, “by one of us.”

 

At this, the Baron lifted his chains from his left arm and rolled up his transparent sleeve. Once exposed Harry could clearly see the glowing, blue roses twining their way up.

 

“By his most trusted friend, his most devoted follower,” the Bloody Baron said, “who stole the wand in an attempt to gain control over Salypso's knowledge.”

 

Harry couldn't help but notice the resemblance to the dark mark, the tattoo Voldemort had used to control his followers.

 

“Yes, it does look quite similar to the dark mark,” the Bloody Baron said, guessing Harry's fascination with it, “Salazar used the spell to quite different ends, and what it became in modern times is a testament to the strength of its ability. Yet, it is only a mere perversion of what Salypso could do, he was a true master of wizardry. I must impress upon you that no matter what you see in the laboratory you must understand that Salypso was a very good man. He may have been strange, perhaps a little frightening even in such an era where rules about magic were far less important. He was very much alone in his ways, his brother saw to that but he was always kind to his fellow students no matter where they were from. And to someone like me, who has been the way I have been for a long time, his niceness was a balm to a troubled heart. I miss him greatly, especially during feasts...”

 

The Bloody Baron trailed off, lost in memories.

 

Harry was astounded. He knew the Bloody Baron's real name, he had seen the strange, rose shaped mark on his arm which he doubted anyone else alive could say. He was burning with questions but when the Baron regained his sense and focused on him, he knew his questions weren't to be answered.

 

“All this is a tiny way for me to repay what I will require of you in the future,” the Bloody Baron said.

 

“W-when might I be expected to,” Harry asked, nervously.

 

“Not for some years,” the Bloody Baron said, hovering around him, “perhaps sixth. We shall see how your potions go. Regardless, there is a new plan afoot, one I think Salypso would have approved of. We must work quickly to avoid notice. First, you shall go to breakfast and then I will return to Professor Snape, we will most certainly need his help...after that the real work begins....”

 

The Bloody Baron described the plan and it was, to Harry's relief, quite well thought out. Despite this, Harry felt terribly nervous and scared. Anything might go wrong, anything at all. And it wouldn't be just a fall off a broom or a day in hospital that would result.

 

When he finally made it to breakfast it was nearly over, the bacon tray had nearly been picked clean by Crabbe and Goyle despite the house elves' best efforts and Harry resigned himself to sausage only.

 

“You're pale as ash,” Millicent said, nearly as soon as he'd sat down.

 

Harry sat down feeling hollow and cold all at once. Of course, he would write to his parents as Professor Snape suggested, if things went poorly he would need all the help he could get. But even the clever professor and his parent's skills, seemed in doubt against a foe that was a thousand years old. After all, Professor Gamp was only a pawn in a terrible, cruel game that had begun a thousand years ago and never really finished. Or at least, that's what the Bloody Baron had told him.

 

“Harry are you all right?” Ginny asked him.

 

“No,” Harry sat flatly, then proceeded to dump as many sausages he could fit onto his plate, he was ravenously hungry.

 

Millicent and Ginny exchanged a look.

 

 _When did_ they _start sitting together?_ Harry thought ruefully.

 

“If there's something you want to tell us-,” Millicent began.

 

“Not really,” Harry said, while cramming some toast into his mouth.

 

“Oh look, here's the mail!” Ginny said, in a tone that suggested she was trying to be cheerful but mostly failing.

 

A large package dropped from an owl for Millicent. She eagerly opened it and when she saw what it was, she nearly cried.

 

“Dragonhide gloves for quidditch,” Millicent said, her lip trembling, “Dad's hoping I'll make the team, he's always been a bit of a wishful thinker.”

 

“I know you'll make it,” Ginny insisted, “they're lovely. Was your Dad on the quidditch team when he was in school?”

 

“No,” Millicent said, “he wasn't the type, more of a ravenclaw swot. Wish some of that rubbed off on me, then maybe Snape would let me on the team.”

 

“He'll let you in,” Harry said, firmly.

 

“Is there something you know that I don't?” Millicent said suspiciously.

 

“No, of course not,” Harry said, though he wasn't very convincing.

 

At the gryffindor table, Neville and Ron were nearly touching heads, frantically whispering to each other. Harry did wonder what that was like, just a little.

 

 _If I had let the hat sort me into Gryffindor_ , Harry thought, _would everything be different?_

 

And yet, Harry knew deep inside that even if he had been sorted into a different house, it wouldn't have changed much. He would still hate being away from home, Neville would still be a pain in the backside and Harry would still frustratingly be the swotty son of the famous James Potter, an inevitable letdown.

 

 _Friends are such a waste_ , a hissing voice said, then faded away as soon as it had come.

 

It had nearly put him off his food, it was almost as if Tom Riddle was getting stronger. He hadn't had time to ask the Bloody Baron about that but he'd deal with it later. His Dad and Sirius would surely know what to do, they were experts at defeating dark magic.

 

When the students dwindled a bit, Harry took out his parchment.

 

“Are you really going to be all right?” Millicent pressed.

 

“I'm writing to my parents,” Harry said, flatly, “do you mind?”

 

Well, there was one thing he had inherited directly from his father, his endless store of courage.

 

_Dear Mum and Dad (and Padfoot and Moony and Wormtail),_

 

_I'm trying to save my friend and myself and I don't have much time. Professor Snape said you were the only ones who could help, I think he was quite put out having to ask. Please come to Hogwarts, the Professor will be waiting in Headmaster Dumbledore's office._

 

_If it all goes pear shaped, I'm sorry in advance for causing so much trouble._

 

_I'll always love you,_

 

_HP_

 

 _Please let me live,_ Harry wished with all his might, _please let this work_.

 

He sent his letter off with an owl wishing he could be sure that his parents would be arriving at Hogwarts at any moment after it arrived. Harry gathered his courage, his wits and his wand and prepared to face his defence against the dark arts professor.

 

 _Time to be a real slytherin_ , Harry thought bitterly, _and give old Salazar a bit of his own back._

 

 


End file.
